


Written in the Stars

by Boogum



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Intrigue, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Romance, god AU, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 46,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23101609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boogum/pseuds/Boogum
Summary: He was the god of destruction. She was a princess whose kingdom had been prophesied to fall. To save her people, she became his wife. To save him, she would have to do the impossible. The castle has secrets, the gods are watching, and time is running out.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 2018
Kudos: 1281





	1. A Maiden's Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InTheWild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InTheWild/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Волей небес](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24023203) by [trololonasty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trololonasty/pseuds/trololonasty)



> This was written as part of the 50 kiss prompts for smellerbeee, who requested number 6 and Adrienette. I was really stumped on this prompt and ended up going an AU route. (And then it just grew from there and became multichapter. Oops.) Anyway, I hope you like it.
> 
> 6: Wild, breathless kisses brought on by a heartfelt gift.

Marinette had read stories about maidens who were sacrificed to appease the gods. She had just never expected that one day she would choose to become that sacrifice, nor that it would mean marriage to a god whose name she could never know.

Names had power. If he told her his, she would be able to control him. No god would willingly let a human do that.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked her, looking like an angel and demon in one with his unearthly beauty and sharp, dangerous claws. "You will never be able to return. Never see your friends and family again."

"Will it save my kingdom?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Then I will."

So he snatched her away from the land of mortals and took her to a place where death and magic was tasted in every breath. No one attended their marriage except the god who officiated—a terrifying being with eyes cold as ice. Just being near him felt like sharp scissors grazing her life thread. That god did not smile once.

The ceremony itself was a perfunctory affair. No decorations, no special dress. Her husband-to-be wore the same dark cloak of shadows as he had when he'd met her, and the ring he placed on her finger was black as night and chilled her skin. She supposed it a fitting wedding ring from a god of chaos and destruction.

"You may kiss to seal your vows."

He stepped closer until he towered over her. She'd expected his proximity to feel cold like the other god, but he was as warm as any human.

Their eyes met. Her heartbeat quickened into a fumbling rhythm in her chest. He had such green, green eyes. They were brighter than jade and made her think of summer grass. That was a relief. It would be so much harder to be with him if she had to look into soulless chips of stone.

"May I?" he asked.

She might have laughed had it been any other occasion. A god asking permission? Unheard of. As it was, she had to struggle with the sudden anxiety and doubt that scratched at her chest. She had agreed to this deal. There was no way to rescind that now. She knew that. Just like she knew that she could not turn her back on her kingdom, her people. It was just … a part of her still cherished dreams about the man of her fantasies—sweet, gentle and kind. Certainly no tail, cat ears, or claws. They'd have three kids together, though first they'd fall madly in love …

That dream was shattering before her eyes and being crushed underfoot.

"Speak, mortal," the officiator prompted. Or more like ordered with all the lashing of a whip.

She jumped and looked once more into those summer-green eyes. "Yes," she whispered. "You may."

Gracefully, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers. Her breath caught. The kiss only lasted a second, yet it was as if he had brushed against her soul, stirring scattered pieces of something deep and half-forgotten.

He pulled back, his brow creasing as he met her gaze.

Had he felt it too?

"It is done," the officiator declared.

A warm hand closed around hers. "Come," her husband said. (For, yes, that was the correct term for him now.) "I'll take you home."

oOo

The palace was vast and shaped into a mountain shrouded in mist. Cold. Dark. Silent. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears. Every step echoed.

"Is anyone else here?" she asked.

"Just us."

She swallowed. "Oh."

"Does that bother you?"

"Would it make a difference?"

Something shifted in his gaze and he averted his face. "This way. I'll show you to your room."

oOo

Her stomach wouldn't stop churning. The bed was right there, large enough to fit six people and draped with velvet. It was her wedding night. She knew what was supposed to happen. But her husband had not approached or said anything about it.

Did he expect her to make the first move? Shed her clothes like a gift unwrapped just for him?

She couldn't. Wouldn't.

But he was a god. He was a god, and she had promised herself to him to spare her kingdom from destruction. Consummating their marriage was just part of the deal.

Shakily, she reached for the ties at the back of her dress. The thick fabric slipped down her shoulders, baring her thin petticoat. His eyes widened and he stepped forward and caught the sleeves of her dress before they could slip further and expose anymore of her.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Heat spilled over her cheeks. "I … I thought you …"

"My wife." His hands were warm on her skin as he gently pulled her dress back up. "That won't be necessary. The kiss we shared was consummation enough."

"Oh."

Her hammering heart steadied in its rhythm. Phew. That was one fear settled.

Wait.

Her head tilted and she looked him up and down. "Do you … not do that then? Though I guess you're immortal and I actually don't know how gods are born …" A new thought came to her and her eyes bugged like a wide-eyed child. "Wait, _can_ you even?"

Maybe he didn't have all the necessary, ahem, _parts_.

Spots of pink formed on his cheeks. "Er, no I can."

"Oh."

Was it her then? Did he just not want to be with a human, despite the fact he'd married her? That was weirdly hurtful.

Perhaps her thoughts showed on her expression, as he gently cupped her face with his hand, guiding her head up so he could hold her gaze. "You are a brave woman, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and I respect you for the sacrifice you have made. But we do not love each other. There is no need to force ourselves just to satisfy a tradition that holds no relevance here."

Her mouth formed a small O of surprise.

He smiled softly and brushed his thumb against her cheek in a small, reassuring caress. Then he bid her goodnight and left her alone in the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this could arguably be considered a marichat AU, but I promise it's adrienette. More to come!


	2. The First Meal

Marinette woke up alone in the stone tower room. She couldn't call it her bedroom. Not yet. Yes, it had been decorated lavishly: all rich wood, ornate carvings, and the kind of rug that even a queen would want to sink her bare feet into to revel in the softness and texture. But the room lacked the comforting touch of home. The flowers, the paintings, the signs that anyone had lived in it before.

It was like being a guest in her own space.

The light filtering through the drapes got brighter—a startling sight after all the darkness and gloom from yesterday. Part of her had wondered if she'd even be able to tell the difference between night and day.

She got off the bed and crossed to the window, pulling the heavy drapes open. Her eyes widened.

"Oh," she murmured.

The palace was still shrouded in mist, but a warm, amber haze had set over everything, like being cradled in honey. Pine and birch trees peeped out from the mist-covered valley below. Some of the tension eased out of her shoulders. Things still grew here. It wasn't just a realm of death.

A soft knock.

"Are you awake?"

She flinched, spinning around to face the door. "Uh … yes?"

That had not been intended as a question, but there was nothing she could do about it now.

"You must be hungry," he said. "Breakfast has been prepared. I'll take you to the dining hall."

"Can I get dressed first?"

"Oh, er, of course. I'll just … wait here."

Her mouth twitched. For a god, he was kind of awkward.

She quickly got ready, though she hesitated at the door. He had done nothing to alarm her so far—if anything, he'd been unexpectedly respectful—but it was still strange to think of him as her husband. Maybe that's why, when she did open the door, her cheeks were pink and she couldn't quite meet his gaze.

"Thank you for waiting," she mumbled.

"The palace is large and I don't want you to get lost. Plus, you don't know where the dining hall is anyway, so that would have just made it harder, and breakfast would have been ruined by the time you did find it, and …" He pressed his lips together, seeming to realise he was rambling. A small inhale, and then he straightened his posture. "Did you sleep well?"

She bit her lip, fighting back an urge to laugh. It probably wouldn't be a good idea. "Yes, I slept well."

"Good. That's good."

They stared at each other.

He turned on his heel. "The dining hall is this way."

oOo

The table was huge. He pulled out a chair for her at one end, where a plate of steaming porridge had been set, along with some fruit and bread. She sat down, allowing him to push her seat in for her. He sat at the opposite end of the table.

Well, this was awkward.

They ate in silence except for the soft clinking of spoons against wooden bowls. Words itched at her tongue, wanting to spill free, but nothing came out. It was like the table was a mountain between them. She'd have to scale all that space just to ask one question.

"Do you like the food?" he asked.

Relief swept through her. "Yes. It's very nice, thank you."

The silence snapped back into place. Somehow, it was even worse now.

"I …" She moistened her lips. "I didn't know a god of chaos would be such a good cook."

He paused. "Oh. I, uh, didn't make this."

"But I thought you said we're the only ones here."

"It's magic."

She blanched, peering at the food like it might sprout feelers.

He laughed, and the sound startled her for how warm and open it was. "It's perfectly edible, I assure you.

Her brow creased. "How does it work?" She prodded at the remaining porridge with her spoon.

"From a thought."

"A thought?"

He smiled slightly. "Don't worry about it. Just know that the food is as real as you or I."

It seemed she had to be satisfied with that.

They continued to eat, mostly in silence, but she could feel the looks he snuck at her from time to time. It was difficult to read his expression, though. (And not just because he was seated on the other side of the table.) Was he curious? Just as awkward and tongue-tied as her? Or had he simply filled his conversation quota and now he hoped she would not disturb him again?

She bit her lip. No, for all that their time together had been brief, he did not seem the aloof type. He'd been gentle last night, and he'd bothered to collect her for breakfast so she didn't get lost …

Maybe the mountain didn't have to be so difficult to scale.

"Can … can I ask you something?" she dared to ask.

He placed his spoon down and gave her his full attention. "Yes, of course."

"Why did you choose me?"

A veil passed over his expression. "You were the ones who called upon me."

His tone was guarded, but the fact he was trying to put this back on her and the kingdom had her prickling up like a porcupine. No way could she take that sitting down.

"To spare my people, yes," she said with a bite of heat. "Why wouldn't we plea for mercy when you were going to destroy us?"

"Just what are you trying to say?"

"You tell me."

They stared at each other for a tense moment.

"Your kingdom was on numbered days," he said finally. "You know this."

"Because you decided it."

"I do not decide fate, human."

It was like a slap to the face. He had never called her _human_ , not in that tone.

His shoulders hunched and he looked the other way, almost as if he regretted snapping at her. "I … it's not as simple as you think, being a god. I don't make the rules."

"But you can bend them enough to get a wife?"

He tensed even more.

"How many other wives have you had thanks to these little agreements of yours? Surely I can't be the first."

"You are," he said softly, still not looking at her.

"What?"

"You are the first."

She blinked.

He stood up, his gaze skittering to hers and then off to the side again. "I'm sorry. I see now it was a mistake to think we could share a meal together. I have already asked too much of you. I'll leave you now."

"Wait."

But he didn't listen. The door clicked shut and she found herself alone in the dining hall, sitting at a table big enough for thirty people. Nothing disturbed the silence.

She bit her lip.

Is this what he lived with every day? The empty chairs, the empty rooms? Every waking hour accompanied only by the sound of his own footsteps and breathing?

Something plummeted in her stomach. She went back to eating her food, even though it tasted like nothing in her mouth now. Maybe there was no need to ask why he had chosen her. Maybe she'd already got her answer.


	3. Let’s Start Again

He did not come to collect her for meals. Not anymore. A note simply appeared on thin paper to notify her when it was time, no matter where she was in the palace, and her food would be there waiting for her in the dining hall.

His chair was always empty.

She prodded a potato with her fork, listened to the sound of her own chewing, tapped out aimless tunes with her cutlery against the wood. There wasn't even a clock.

Her gaze fixed on the ornate chair opposite hers. "Are you really going to stay away like this?"

Silence.

"What did you even expect? Of course I didn't want to marry someone I've never met, and you're a god, and you just … you …"

Had apologised.

Had given her space because he believed that was what would make her happiest.

A hissed curse escaped her lips and she stood up. "Alright, fine, fine. I'll do it."

Stupid, overly respectful god.

oOo

It took far too long to find him. The palace was a maze of towers and corridors, and he had never told her where his bedroom could be found. (Did gods even sleep or require a bedroom? She had no idea.)

But then she stumbled across an inner courtyard that opened up to the honey-coloured sky. He sat on one of the stone benches, still and quiet like a statue. He seemed transfixed by the tree in the centre. Not that she could understand why. It was dead—just a decaying thing of spindly branches that almost looked like claws grasping for lost leaves. A small hedge rimmed the tree in a circular border.

Well, at least the hedge wasn't dead. The shock of green was a much-needed touch of colour.

One of her husband's cat-like ears twitched and he twisted to look at her. All the words she'd planned to say got lost in a tangle the moment their eyes met. Creases formed on his brow. His head tilted, as if examining her from a different angle would help him figure out what was going on.

Right. She still needed to make words.

"Um, hello," she managed to get out.

"Hello," he said cautiously.

She bit her lip, her hands half-clasped near her chest, interlacing and unlacing her fingers. "Um, so I … I was thinking …"

"Yes?"

"This palace is really big and, um, we're the only ones here …"

He sat up straighter, his gaze fixed on her intensely. "What are you saying?"

She looked down at her hands, toeing the ground with the tip of her shoe. "Maybe … we could go back to having meals together." Her gaze darted to his. "Only if you want, of course."

His jaw went slack. He blinked once, twice, and then his lips curved into the purest, sweetest smile she had seen. It was like sunshine, untainted and bright. "I would like that."

Heat crawled up her cheeks. "Great. Then that's settled."

She turned to leave.

"Wait," he said.

"Yes?"

"Do you … would you like to, um … I mean we could …"

Frowning, she turned to look at him. He had stood up and was rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced off to the side. Splotches of pink dusted his cheeks. He looked as shy and awkward as a prince at his first ball, fumbling through an attempt to ask her to dance.

Her expression softened. "What?" she asked gently.

"We don't just have to meet at mealtimes," he said in a rush, his gaze skittering to hers and then off again. "We could also … I mean only if you were okay with it, because I don't want you to feel like you have to do anything just to please me, but—"

"Yes."

He froze. "Wh-what?"

"Yes," she repeated, this time with a smile. "We can spend time together outside meals."

"You really mean that?"

She almost laughed. "Yes."

He grinned. Actually grinned. It was ridiculously adorable.

"I … thank you," he said.

She was tempted to say it was either talk to him or talk to no one, but he looked so cheerful and relieved that she didn't have the heart to burst his happy bubble. Besides, she actually was curious to get to know him more. He was much nicer than she'd expected. Much shyer too. So she simply smiled and asked him what they could do to pass the time together.

"I could give you a proper tour of the palace," he suggested. "That way you won't get lost."

A laugh slipped free of her. She was all too aware that she had no idea how to get back to her tower room from here. "That would actually be perfect."


	4. Closer

The next time they went to the dining hall together for a meal, she laughed when he moved towards the ornate chair at the far end.

"What?" he said, wrinkling his brow and looking around as if to check if he had missed something.

She covered her mouth to hide her smile. "It's just … this table is really big, don't you think?"

His frown deepened.

"I'm just saying that since it's just the two of us here, maybe we don't have to sit at opposite ends."

He blinked, then glanced from his chair to her chair, and then back again. He mouthed something under his breath and pressed his hand to his eyes, shielding his expression from view.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

His response was muffled.

"Um, I didn't catch that."

"I didn't think."

"What?"

He lowered his hand, his cheeks pinker than the soft rose of her dress. "I, uh, don't have guests much. Sorry."

She laughed. "Well, that much is obvious."

His blush darkened and he looked off to the side, his ears flattening against his hair.

Oh no, had she upset him? She hadn't meant to do that.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

He glanced back at her in question.

"For laughing. I know you've been doing all you can to make me feel comfortable here, and I didn't mean to make fun of you. I just … you're not at all what I expected."

He tilted his head, his green eyes big with curiosity. "What were you expecting?"

"I don't know. Someone cruel, arrogant, scary. Likes to flaunt their power. Probably gets angry easily."

"And you agreed to marry me?"

"I agreed to save my kingdom."

The reminder made him stiffen and lower his gaze. For all that they'd spent the day with each other, neither had forgotten the argument from their first meal. Frustration still simmered within her when she thought about it. The fact he'd tried to put the marriage agreement back on her people, the fact he'd wanted to wash his hands of any responsibility. These were things she couldn't simply forget.

But he was making an effort to be kind, and she didn't want to argue with him or spend every day like a festering bundle of resentment. That would achieve nothing except lonely meals and silence.

"Anyway," she said, trying to brush over the tension with all the grace of a sneeze, "shall we eat?"

He nodded and joined her at her end of the table, taking the seat on her right. It was much cosier. Much easier to hold a conversation as well. Still, he prodded at his food like it was a giant insect that had somehow got on his plate, and his expression didn't exactly scream _happy to be here_ —not when he thought she wasn't looking anyway.

"What?" she said.

"Hmm?"

"You keep pulling this face." She scrunched her nose at him.

"Oh." He sat up straighter, plastering on a polite smile. "Don't worry. It's nothing."

"Doesn't seem like it. Did I do something to upset you?"

"What? No, no. Of course not. I'm glad for your company."

Silence settled between them. He went back to prodding at his food. The little nose scrunch appeared a few seconds later.

"You know," she said gently, "I realise we don't know each other that well, but if something is bothering you, you can tell me."

He frowned at his plate. It didn't seem like he would take her up on the offer, but then a sigh escaped him and he placed his knife and fork down.

"Okay," he said, shooting her a glance from under his lashes. "I was thinking about what you said earlier—that you thought I'd be cruel, arrogant and easily angered. It's just … why did you think that?"

She shrugged. "That's how the god of destruction and chaos has always been portrayed in the tales."

His shoulders slumped. "Right."

"But obviously you're not like that," she was quick to assure, waving her hands in a negating gesture. "You seem like a good person—uh, god."

The tiniest of smiles peeped out on his lips. Perhaps he found her correction funny. "Thank you, Marinette."

Her brow wrinkled.

"What?" he asked, sitting up in concern. He was always quick to check on her if her mood changed.

"It's the name thing," she admitted. "I know why you can't tell me your name, but isn't there anything I can call you? Anything other than h-husband?" Ugh, just saying the word made her face burn. "The other gods must call you something, right?"

It was like watching a snail retreat into its shell. His shoulders crept closer to his jaw, and he gripped his upper arm, averting his face. "I … don't have much to do with the other gods."

"Why not?"

"It's complicated."

"What about the god who officiated our wedding? He seemed to know you, and he must call you something, right?"

Her husband tensed even more. Suddenly, she felt like a giant stepping on every eggshell, just crunch, crunch, crunching with every word she spoke.

"Sorry," she murmured. "I didn't mean to be pushy."

"No." He shook his head. "No, it's natural you'd be curious." He met her gaze, and the smile he gave her was as fragile as a cobweb, overburdened with the emotions he was holding back. "That god is my father."

Her jaw dropped. "Y-your father?"

"Yes."

"That god?"

"Yes."

"But he's so—"

She broke off before she could blurt something tactless, like how she'd thought that god was horrible and cold, and she was glad when they left him. Too bad her husband seemed to get the gist anyway.

"We are not much alike," he allowed.

_No kidding_ , she wanted to say. The fact he even had a father was a surprise to her. The stories always made it seem like the gods had just appeared on their own, no parents necessary.

"What about your mother?" she asked.

His expression became even more pained. "She's … gone."

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

"It's fine. You didn't know."

Silence. It was heavy and tangible, like a stone pressing down on her.

"Anyway," he said, an echo of her awkward attempt to change the topic, "I'm afraid I have no names to offer you. My father calls me 'son', which you obviously cannot."

"I see." Her eyes widened. "Wait, then god parents don't know their own children's names? Aren't they the ones who pick it?"

"Our names are something we know from the moment we're born. It's just a part of us. The only way someone can know our name is if we tell it to them."

"But then they'd be able to control you, right?"

He looked off to the side. "Something like that."

She hummed in thought. Well, that part of the old tales at least seemed to hold true. Still, his answers had left her with a lot more questions. She just wasn't sure if now was the best time to ask. There were many things she didn't know about him, many things she didn't know about gods either. Perhaps for now it was best to just try to enjoy this meal together.

"You know, this magic food is pretty good," she observed.

A laugh was startled out of him.

"Why are you laughing? I'm just trying to compliment the food."

His expression softened, so gentle and warm it was like being wrapped up in the honey, sun-touched sky. "I'm glad you like it, Marinette."

Heat bloomed on her cheeks. She ducked her head and continued to eat, avoiding his gaze and determined not to dwell on why she found it hard to look him in the eye when he gave her those soft looks. Because it didn't mean anything. Not a thing.


	5. Make it Official

"I got it!" Marinette said, stopping mid-step in the corridor and spinning to face him. Amber light filtered through the window and brought out the golden threads of his hair, stark against his black robe and pointed ears.

His brow wrinkled. "Got what?"

"The name I'll call you."

Surprise widened his eyes. "I didn't know you were serious about that."

"I am, and I've decided I'll call you Cat."

He tilted his head. "Cat?"

"Yeah, because of your ears."

He touched one of the silky looking black ears on his head, his nose scrunching in a way that was far too adorable for a god of destruction. "What about my ears?"

"That's what they remind me of. Cat ears."

His nose scrunched even more.

She stepped closer, waving her hands in panic. "I don't mean it as a bad thing. I actually think your ears are kind of cute." Uh oh, was it okay to call a god's ears cute? "I mean in a godly way, of course. God cat ears that are kind of cute and, and—"

He stared at her like she'd grown a third arm.

"—and I'm going to shut up now. I'm sorry."

Her shoulders slumped and she turned the other way, muttering _idiot_ under her breath. Why would a god like him want to be called cute in any form or likened to a domesticated animal?

"Marinette."

His voice was gentle and his touch light on her shoulder. She bit her lip, though she did not face him. Her face was heating up faster than a log cradled by fire.

"Cat is fine."

She blinked, glancing over her shoulder. "What?"

"You're right." He gave a little shrug, one corner of his lips curving. "My ears are cat-like. Plus, I'm honoured you wish to give me this name."

"R-really?"

"Really."

"You're not just saying that to be polite?"

His smile widened and he removed his hand from her shoulder. "No, I … well, to be honest I was just surprised you find my ears, er, cute."

She scratched the underside of her jaw. "Sorry. They just look really soft."

"Oh." Pink bloomed on his cheeks. "Um, thanks?"

"Is that weird, too? I'm sorry if I keep making things weird. I—"

His laughter made her close her mouth.

"Now you're just making fun of me," she mumbled.

"I'm not, I promise. It's just …" He gave another shrug, his smile warming in a way that could melt frost. "You can relax, you know. Just because I'm a god doesn't mean you have to tiptoe around me. I'm still new to this social interaction thing, but I won't get mad. I promise."

It was a sweet gesture. He could obviously tell that she was stressed about saying the wrong thing, and as she looked into his summer-green eyes, her heart whispered that perhaps she could trust his word. Trust _him_. Sure, the stories had never painted him in a good light. More often than not he wasn't even depicted as humanoid but as a beast with monstrous fangs and claws, causing destruction wherever he went. He never showed mercy, never seemed to care about any of the lives he snatched.

But the god she'd married was attentive and respectful. He looked around her own age—somewhere in his early twenties—and he was handsome in a fair way, with long hair the colour of the wheat fields back home. It was only the cat ears, the claw-like nails, and the tail that sometimes peeped out from his cloak that reminded he was not human.

Maybe the stories really had got it wrong. Maybe he was just him: a kind, often shy god burdened with the role of destruction.

A twinkle gleamed in her eyes. She hummed in thought, tapping her finger to her lips as she examined him up and down. "So, you're saying we can be more informal with each other?"

"I, um … yes?" Dusts of pink grazed his cheeks. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

She grinned and held out her hand. "Alright, it's decided. We are officially friends, Cat."

"Friends?"

He said the word like he was testing it on his tongue for the first time, like it was the purest of pearls to be treasured. The reverence made her giggle.

"Yes," she said, still holding out her hand. "I mean, I guess I already considered you a friend since we spend every day together, but now it's official. You are hereby dubbed my very godly friend, Cat."

His eyes widened before a rush of softness and warmth spilled out from his expression, sweet like honey overflowing. He clasped her hand in both of his. "Thank you, Marinette. I would love to be your friend."


	6. Something Different

She did not spend every waking hour with Cat. Sometimes he could not be found, no matter how much she called. Sometimes she just wanted her own space. It was during these times that she occupied herself with whatever she could find: wandering the castle, drawing in her sketchbook, working on the embroidery she'd brought with her.

It wasn't enough. Restlessness itched at her limbs. Her gaze was often tugged to the windows, seeking what lay beyond the mist. Dreaming of the land and all the people she had left.

"Cat," she said the next time she saw him. "How about we do something else today?"

His brow wrinkled. "Like what?"

"I don't know. What do you normally do for fun?"

Pink dusted his cheeks. "Oh, um, nothing much."

Her lips curved and she leaned closer. "You know you're blushing."

"Am not."

"You are."

He pressed a hand to his cheek, as if by doing so he could make the flaming touch of colour disappear.

"Just what are you trying to hide from me, hmm?" She poked him in the chest. "Fess up."

His gaze darted to her finger, then to her face. "I …" He glanced off to the side. "I sometimes …"

The rest of his words were mumbled too low.

"What was that? I didn't hear that last part."

He made a flustered sound, wincing. "I sometimes slide down the main stairway banister."

A pause.

She bit her lip. Her shoulders shook, her cheeks puffed out, and then she couldn't contain it anymore. Laughter bubbled free in a bright swell.

"I knew you were going to laugh at me," he grumbled.

"I'm sorry, I just"—more giggles—"I can see it in my head: you, the great god of destruction, sliding down the banister and—"

He groaned. "I regret telling you this."

"No, wait!" She grabbed his arm before he could flee. "I won't laugh anymore."

"You're laughing right now."

She leaned on his arm, pushing herself up on her tiptoes to be closer to his eye level. "I only do it out of friendly affection, I swear."

His bottom lip jutted into a pout.

"I mean I used to slide down the banister as well …" Her mouth twitched, threatening to ruin her composure. "When I was a child."

He looked the other way, his cheeks rosy. "You're never going to stop teasing me about this, are you?"

"I'm not that cruel." She slipped her hand in his. "Besides, I wanna see this for myself."

"Wha—"

She tugged him for the door, smiling at him over her shoulder. "Come on, Cat! The banister awaits!"

oOo

It was the last thing she had expected to do with a god, let alone her husband. The stairway was enormous and curved like arms about to embrace. His cheeks were still rose-pink and he lingered behind her, though he had not broken free of her grasp. His palm was warm and soft against her own.

"You go first," she said, spinning to face him.

His brow furrowed. "You just want to laugh at me again, don't you?"

"So suspicious." She pulled his hand up between them, always one to be in motion. "I just want to—oh."

The black claws that normally jutted from his fingers had been replaced with human nails. She hadn't noticed until her finger had brushed the blunt tip of his pinky.

"What happened?" she asked, spreading his hand out and running her thumb over one of his nails.

"Magic."

"Well, I figured that much, but why the change?"

He shrugged and rubbed the base of his neck. "You humans are so fragile. I know you weren't really thinking about it when you grabbed my hand, but I didn't want to accidentally cut you, so I changed them."

Her heart stuttered in a little skip. "Oh. Um, thank you."

"It's nothing."

She looked down at his hand and ran her thumb over his nail again, feeling the smoothed edge. Her cheeks felt a bit warm.

"Um, can you change other things about your appearance?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Like what?" She peeped up at him from under her lashes.

His brow wrinkled and then his pointy black ears were gone—just vanished into thin air. Curious, she leaned up on her tiptoes and reached for the top of his head, only to pause. Her eyes sought his in a mixture of apology and question.

"May I?" she asked.

The corner of his lips curved, and he nodded.

She touched his hair, softer and thicker than she'd expected. No invisible cat ears to be found. They really were gone.

Her gaze caught his again, but he simply stood there, silent and watchful, like he was just as curious to see what she would do. Boldened, she brushed back the soft curtain of his hair and found the human ears he had given himself. Her fingertip traced the shell of his right ear, which felt just as real as her own.

"Wow," she murmured.

The dustings of pink were back on his cheeks. It occurred to her then just how closely they were standing and, despite her innocent intentions, just how intimate it was to touch him in this way.

Heat bloomed in a fresh wave over her face, and she quickly stepped back from him. "Um, I guess you can completely pass for a human if you want then."

"Yes. All gods can, but it's more comfortable to be ourselves."

His cat ears popped back, looking as temptingly soft as ever. She didn't dare ask to touch them after everything else, though.

She cleared her throat, facing the stairs. "So, shall we try this banister sliding then?"

"I hoped you'd forgotten about that."

"Not likely. Besides, this is what _you_ do for fun. You should be used to this."

"Yeah, but …" He rubbed the back of his neck again, shooting her one of those shy glances. "I've never done it in front of someone."

"Then this will be a first." She grinned and ushered him towards the top of the banister. "Don't worry, I'll be right down after you."

"Alright, alright." He held his hands up in surrender. "If you insist."

He looked just as ridiculous as she'd hoped, sliding down the banister with his shadowy cloak fluttering out behind him and his cat ears flopping comically. She giggled and had to cover her mouth, trying to stifle the sound.

"I knew you were going to laugh!" he called to her. "You liar!"

But the smile he gave when he stood at the end was soft and amused, like he was sharing in on a secret with her. It stirred fluttery wings in her stomach: fragile, quick to fade. Easy to dismiss as well.

"Alright, my turn!"

She hoisted herself onto the stone banister, legs dangling towards the steps as if she were riding a horse side-saddle. It was the only way not to have her dress ride up around her hips. Once she had her balance, she let gravity do its work. Her laugh slipped free in a bright accompaniment. It had been so long since she'd done this. She'd forgotten how fun it was.

"Hey, Marinette, maybe you should slow down a li—"

Her grip slipped. Uh oh.

It was too late to correct her balance. Her heart jumped to her throat and the floor rose to meet her. This was going to hurt.

Suddenly, he was there, holding her safe in his arms. She blinked.

"You okay?" he asked, frowning down at her.

Her tongue didn't want to unstick from the roof of her mouth.

"Marinette?"

"I fell."

He laughed softly. "Yeah, you did."

"You caught me."

"Well, I wasn't going to let you get hurt." He set her on her feet, his hands lingering on her waist to make sure she didn't lose her balance. "Maybe you shouldn't go banister sliding anymore, though. Or at least not like that. There's easier ways to do it, you know."

"I know, but"—she tugged at her dress—"I'm kind of limited with this."

He tilted his head. "What would you rather wear?"

"Honestly? Pants would be nice."

A smile curved his lips. "Understood."

The little wrinkle appeared on his brow and then her dress changed into dark cotton pants and a simple shirt, cinched at the waist with a belt. Her jaw dropped and she ran her hands over the material and moved her legs to enjoy the newfound freedom of movement.

"Better?" he asked.

She laughed and spun around. "Are you kidding me? This is amazing? You can change clothes just like that?"

"Well, I can't really do that," he admitted.

"Huh?" She paused in her admiration of his handiwork. "What do you mean? You just did."

"My power is destruction. This magic …" He glanced around the hall, his expression pensive. "It's something else."

She bit her lip, her heart pounding. "Do you … do you think I could learn how to use it?"

"I honestly don't know. You're human, so I don't know if that will change anything." His eyes met hers, crinkling into a smile. "But I don't see why you can't try."

She grinned back. Oh, she was definitely going to try.


	7. Magic

"We'll start with something small," he said, taking the seat opposite her in the parlour and handing her a strange, featherless quill. "See if you can make a copy of this."

She twirled it round and round in her fingers. "I just have to think about what I want, right?"

"That's right. This magic is born from thoughts."

"Got it."

She stared intently at the quill, which had a handle as black as a starless sky. Little creases formed on her brow. Her shoulders tensed. Her eyebrows drew together, deepening the creases into a spreading valley.

"Relax," he murmured.

"I am relaxed."

He smiled and placed his hands on her shoulders. "You're as stiff as a rock, and you know it."

"That's because nothing is happening." She waved the quill. "Look, there's still only one."

He just arched his eyebrow, as if to ask if she was really going to give up so soon.

Not one to back down from a challenge, she sat up straighter and focussed on the quill. Human or not, she had to believe she could do this. _Wanted_ to believe. This magic was like a key dangling before her fingers. If she could grasp it, maybe this marriage she had chosen wouldn't have to feel so much like joining her husband in a stone cage.

His hands lingered on her shoulders, warm and anchoring. As the tension crept back into her body, he lightly rubbed circles into her shoulders to ease the stiffness out of her.

"Steady your breathing," he said softly.

She obeyed, counting the seconds between each inhale and exhale until the pattern stuck.

"Now picture yourself holding a copy of the quill. Be very specific. The more detail you put into the thought, the easier it will be."

That wasn't so hard. She'd always had a vivid imagination and a knack for noticing the small details—like how the quill was hard as bone. Perhaps it even was bone. Tiny smears of ink stained the tip, blending into the starless black. A closer look at the handle revealed a delicate, grooved pattern that looked like a ribbon of knots.

Such a strange quill.

Something trembled under her skin, a shiver of crackling energy and warmth. Then a second quill appeared on her palm. Her fingers tightened around its cold smoothness. Solid. Real. "Cat—"

"You did it!"

She laughed and threw her arms around him. "I did it!"

He froze, though his arms soon came around her, almost tentative.

"Thank you for teaching me," she said, hugging him closer.

"It was nothing. You're the one who did all the work." He pulled back to meet her gaze, admiration warming his eyes. "I can't believe you got that so quickly. It took me over a week."

"Really?"

"Yeah." His lips curved. "You must be a natural."

She grinned and stood up. "I wanna try something."

He tilted his head in curiosity.

The rushing energy was still coursing through her blood, emboldening her with confidence. She threw the two quills into the air, picturing what she wanted in her mind. White burst from the quills like a rose rapidly opening into full bloom—except it wasn't a rose at all. The parlour was raining feathers, pure as snow. The black quills clinked to the floor amid the feathers, stark like drops of obsidian.

She laughed in delight and spun to face Cat, expecting to see that same look of admiration and praise in his eyes, but his expression was more horrified than anything. Then he sneezed.

"Cat—"

And sneezed again.

"Are you—"

He covered his nose and mouth with his hands. "Sorry," he said in a muffled voice. "Allergic to feathers."

She blinked as he dashed from the room, sneezing all the way. Well, that explained why he had such a unique quill.

oOo

"Hey, Cat," she said later that evening, after they'd eaten dinner and located to a different, feather-free parlour.

"Mm?"

"Can you tell me more about the thought magic?"

He leaned on the armrest, resting his chin on his palm. "What do you want to know?"

"I don't know. I'm just curious. Can everyone in this land use it? Is it like some special god-land magic?"

"No, it only exists in this castle."

"Really?"

He nodded. "Strange, isn't it?"

"But why?"

"I don't know …" He lowered his gaze, running his finger along the wooden armrest in an aimless pattern. "It's said the goddess of creation once lived in this castle. Perhaps a part of her power still remains here."

Marinette looked at the stone walls and ornate furniture with new fascination. Had the goddess of creation really lived in this place? That goddess had always been such a mysterious figure in the stories. Known as the first of all gods, yet so little had been written about her. Some stories claimed she had no solid form, simply existing as a sentient power that gave shape to all things.

"Have you met her?" Marinette asked. "What's she like?"

"I don't know. The last one disappeared long before I was born, and no one has seen a goddess of creation since."

Her gaze snapped back to him. "What?"

He blinked. "What?"

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Um, that depends on what you think I'm saying."

She leaned towards him, curious and wide-eyed. "I mean are you telling me that there has been more than one goddess of creation?"

"Yes …"

"And other gods of destruction, too?"

"Naturally."

Her jaw dropped.

"You really didn't know?" he asked, tilting his head.

"No! The stories never mentioned anything like this!"

"Well, your human stories don't appear to be very accurate."

She pressed her hands to her cheeks, still trying to wrap her mind around this information. "But—but how? How does this even work? I thought gods are immortal."

"We're not, really. Our bodies can just withstand more and we live much longer than humans. I guess you could say it's more like our power is immortal. If one god dies, another will be born to take their place."

"So when the last god of destruction died, you were born?"

He nodded.

She sat back in her chair, hands flat on the armrests. "Huh."

This changed a lot.

She snuck a glance at him from out the corner of her eye. No wonder he seemed so young. He probably was young. That was comforting. Much as she knew gods aged differently, it was nice to know her husband probably wasn't thousands of years old.

That got her wondering about why he was in this castle all alone, though. Was it because of his predecessor? Because of something that had happened? And why had the goddess of creation disappeared anyway? So many questions.

She opened her mouth to ask about the last god of destruction, but a huge yawn escaped instead. His gaze was soft and amused as he met her eyes.

"I think we've probably talked enough," he said, and stood up. "You should get some sleep."

"It's not even late."

"Maybe so, but you did magic for the first time today, and I bet you're feeling it."

Another yawn supported his suspicions. Magic, as exciting as it was, had taken a toll on her body. She'd been drowsy ever since her little feather trick.

He held out his hand to help her up. "Come on. I'll walk you back to your room."

"Fine. I guess I am tired."

Although she wasn't going to let a bit of sleepiness stop her from using the magic again tomorrow. Though next time she'd skip the feathers. Poor Cat had suffered enough.


	8. When the Cat Goes Away

"Cat?" Marinette wandered the looming rooms and corridors, her steps echoing around her. "Cat!"

Silence.

She sighed. Sometimes, he was so impossible to find. What was the point of those long, pointy ears if he couldn't hear her when she called?

"Maybe I should make him a bell."

She giggled, trying to imagine it. That would be a sight: the god of destruction wearing a nice silver bell around his neck, jingling whenever he walked. She could even inscribe it with his nickname. Though he probably wouldn't understand the joke if she did make him one, or maybe he'd be offended.

Her petering giggles got snatched up by the stillness, smothered like a light snuffed out. The weight of the silence that cradled the castle seemed more oppressive now. Magic had given her an outlet, but it hadn't changed the fact that all she knew were these stone walls or that her only companion was a god who could be as elusive as the wind when he wanted.

She bit back another sigh and kept walking. Her feet took her to the courtyard where she had first found him, though he was not seated on the bench this time. The strange, dead tree overlooked everything like a gnarled gargoyle, twisted and clawing for the sky. Really, it was quite ugly.

"Where are you, Cat?" she murmured.

Wait, the notes! He had used to send them to her when they weren't talking so he could let her know about meals. Perhaps she could do the same.

She sat on the bench and pictured what she wanted: paper, a pot of ink, and a quill. The objects appeared one by one. She snatched up the quill and dipped it into the pool of liquid black, scrawling words onto the paper.

"Okay," she said, admiring her finished work. "How would he have done it?"

The magic worked by thoughts. Maybe if she just pictured him with it?

She steadied her breathing just as he'd taught her and focussed on that single image: him holding the note she had written. Magic shivered through her, tingling in her veins like a web of energy. The note fluttered free of her hands, trembling and trembling as it floated in the air.

And dropped to the ground.

Her brow furrowed. "Did I do something wrong?"

She tried again and again, but all she achieved was a headache and smears of blurry black across her vision. Frustrated, she screwed the note up and tossed it away from her. It lay in the shadow of the dead tree, crumpled and useless.

"Stupid thing," she muttered, and brought her legs up to her chest, hiding her face against her knees.

Something rustled, soft like a cloak trailing against stone.

She stood up in a rush. "Ca—"

Her lips clamped shut, her heart stuttering. There was a woman standing in the courtyard and examining the crumpled note, which she now held in her hand. She was tall and slender, and her skin had an odd, bluish tinge as if kissed by ice. Her hair was blue as well: a deep shade of sapphire that she'd coiled neatly on her head, topped with a delicate, filigree crown. Even her dress was blue, hugging her body like a glove before it flowed out in a trail that glinted with emerald and gold.

She was beautiful. She was also clearly a goddess.

"Um, can I help you?" Marinette asked.

"You won't reach him like this." The goddess's voice was cool like a winter's night, and her eyes were unsettlingly sharp.

"Sorry?"

"Your husband is not here, human." She dropped the note onto the ground. "You will need a lot more power if you wish to breach the castle's borders and send him a message."

Marinette swallowed, feeling small and like she was standing on the wrong foot. Why hadn't Cat told her he was going away? She'd spent all that time trying to find him. The thought twisted unpleasant sensations in her belly.

The goddess turned away. "Well, my curiosity has been satisfied." Wings sprouted free of her back in feathered black, teal and purple.

"Wait!" Marinette's heart thudded against her ribs. "What do you mean your curiosity?"

_Why come here to see me?_

The goddess stared at her with those sharp blue eyes, cold as the frost that snatches life with unsuspecting swiftness. "I simply wondered why he chose you."

"My husband?"

Her laugh was like silk and ice slipping down Marinette's spine. "Farewell, human."

The goddess took flight, not sparing her another glance as she flew off into the hazy sky. Her winged silhouette got smaller and smaller until she could no longer be seen.

Marinette's fingers curled into her palms. Just who the heck had that been?

oOo

Cat returned much later. He tried to slip into the entrance hall quietly, but she'd been waiting on the bottom step of the staircase and spotted him the moment he poked his pointy-eared head through the door.

"Where have you been?" she demanded.

It wasn't the greeting she'd intended, but the time she'd spent waiting had left her tongue barbed and quick to fire off the prickly words that had got stuck there during the hours he'd left her alone.

He stiffened. "Marinette. Why—"

"You left." She was on her feet all of a sudden, fingernails digging into her palms. "You left without telling me! Why would you do that? Did you think it wouldn't matter? That I just don't deserve to know about your comings and goings?"

He lowered his gaze.

"I tried looking for you! I even tried to use magic to find you, and you just, you just …" Something hot prickled her eyes. She quickly swiped at her face, refusing to cry in front of him. It was silly to shed tears over such a thing. Too bad her stinging eyes didn't want to cooperate.

He continued to stare at the floor. The fact he hadn't offered any defence only made it worse.

"I thought we were friends, Cat."

"We are."

She marched over to him, forcing him to meet her gaze as she stood in his line of sight. "Friends wouldn't do that to each other. Do you know how stupid I felt when that goddess turned up and—"

"Wait, goddess?"

"I don't know. Some woman with blue hair. She told me you were gone."

"Mayura," he murmured, his brow furrowing.

"Huh?"

"It's not her true name, but it's what she goes by. You might know her as the goddess of emotion."

Marinette frowned. That was the goddess of emotion? That cold, frost-eyed woman? Was it just a trend for these gods to be the complete opposite of what they stood for?

"What did she do?" Cat asked. "Why did she come here?"

"Don't think I don't notice you changing the subject."

"I'm not. I just—"

She raised her eyebrow, arms folded.

He bit his lip. "Okay. You're right, I shouldn't have left without saying anything. I'm sorry."

"Why didn't you just tell me? It's not like I expect you to be here with me all the time. I wouldn't have minded so long as you'd said something to let me know you were leaving."

"I know, but …" He tensed, hunching into himself like a snail seeking its shell. "I thought maybe you'd ask me where I was going, and I … I didn't want to have to lie."

Something cold and heavy settled in her stomach.

His gaze met hers, tentative like a kitten afraid of being kicked. "And I thought if I told you the truth, it would just remind you of what happened with …"

"My kingdom," she finished softly.

He nodded.

The silence that settled was uncomfortably tangible, like a heavy cloak suffocating her in summer with its heat.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

She said nothing. What could she say? It wasn't his fault that he had been born with this power, but he still fulfilled his role. He sent plagues to sicken and cause suffering, crushed kingdoms with unspeakable calamities. How many lives had he taken? She didn't want to ask, yet she knew his hands were probably stained with more blood than any human in history.

That he had probably killed today as well.

"Marinette, I'm sorry but I have to ask. What did Mayura do?"

"Nothing." Her voice sounded strange and distant to her own ears. "She did nothing. Just was curious to see your human wife, I guess."


	9. The Truth

The easy friendship she had come to enjoy with Cat had been lost. They still ate meals together, still walked and talked with each other, but every interaction felt like they were tiptoeing on a string that was under too much pressure. The pauses were longer. His gaze was skittish, her smiles strained. When their eyes did meet, it was like that string tremored and tightened just that little bit more, straining and straining before the inevitable snap.

Weighed with everything unsaid.

"Cat …"

He tensed, his grip tightening on the chair he'd been about to pull out from the dining table so he could sit down and eat with her. "Yes?"

"Will you answer me something honestly?"

His shoulders hunched like he was already retreating into a defensive shell, expecting the worst. It didn't make her feel good. He was always so kind, always so quick to please. But she couldn't keep pretending that she wasn't bothered by his omissions. Not anymore. All the unanswered questions were like seeds of thorns taking root in her heart. If she didn't get them out, they would tear her and this friendship apart.

"You don't enjoy causing death and suffering, right?"

His eyes widened with hurt. "Is that what you think of me? That I enjoy this?"

"No. No, of course not." She resisted the urge to rub her temples. This was not a good start. "It's just you don't enjoy what you do, but you still do it, right?"

"I don't have a choice."

"But you spared my kingdom."

"That was different."

"How?"

His fingers curled into the backrest, making his knuckles flare white.

"Cat, please." She stood up, seeking his gaze even as he glanced away from her. "Please, tell me the truth. Why did you spare my kingdom?"

"You know why. You offered yourself as a sacrifice."

She shook her head. "That can't be it."

"Is it so hard to believe that your life willingly given was enough to pay for what was owed?"

"Then what of the others? You can't tell me my kingdom was the only one to offer you a sacrifice and beg for mercy. All those stories about human sacrifices exist for a reason. There must have been others."

His shoulders crept up more towards his jaw. He still had not met her gaze.

"Cat—"

"What do you want me to say?" His voice was low, almost trembling. "That I hear their pleas? That sometimes there's nothing I can do, even when blood is spilt to stay my hand?" A hollow laugh. "As if seeing more death is supposed to appease me. As if I'd ever want innocent women and children to die as recompense."

She frowned. "But the sacrifices—"

"Are just a price to be paid when mercy is offered." He finally met her gaze, though his eyes were over-bright and the bitterness that seeped out was like a puncture to her heart. "I would spare them all if I could, Marinette, but I can't."

"But you're the god of destruction. Surely you get to decide who actually gets destroyed or—"

"I'm telling you that I can't!"

She blinked.

He pressed his hand to his eyes like a shield and turned away, leaving her staring at his profile. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. It's just … it's not that simple. If I break the rules, bad things happen."

Silence settled.

"Then my kingdom … you weren't really the one who chose to spare it, were you?"

"No."

She licked her dry lips. "And the marriage?"

"My father's idea. I didn't want you to have to die. He suggested marriage as an alternative."

"Oh." Her stomach felt odd and heavy, like someone had stacked rocks inside but they kept slipping around. "Then … none of this was your decision?"

He lowered his hand and looked at her with those green, green eyes, though right now they were a little red. "I admit I was curious …"

"Curious?"

"About you." He gazed down at his hands. "When you volunteered to be the sacrifice, I thought you were really brave. And then when Father said you didn't have to die, that you could become my wife and live with me here and that would be enough, I …" He shot a glance at her from under his lashes. "I couldn't say no."

Heat grazed her cheeks.

"I'm sorry." He bit his lip and averted his face. "It was selfish of me to let you believe that becoming my wife was the only option."

"No." Life sprang back into her limbs, and she moved around the table to grab his hands. "No, Cat. I'm glad you chose to offer me marriage."

"You are?"

She squeezed his hands. "I would have done what was needed to save my kingdom, but I much prefer being alive and living here with you."

"Even if that means being married to the god of destruction?"

"You're not just the god of destruction."

The words had never felt so true. It was as if voicing them had chased away the last of the creatures of doubt that had niggled her mind. Of course he was more than the power he wielded. He had proven that over and over.

She rubbed her thumb over his knuckle. "You're also my friend, Cat."

A glimmer of hope entered his eyes, so fragile that it hurt. "You still want to be my friend?"

"Of course."

"But I thought—"

"I just wanted to understand you better. Understand this whole situation." She let go of his hands, but only so she could wrap her arms around his middle. "I'm sorry. I see now how hard this is for you."

He hesitated for a heartbeat before he returned the hug. "Thank you," he murmured into her hair. "Thank you for giving me a chance. Thank you for being my friend. It … it means so much."

She closed her eyes, hugging him tighter. "You don't have to thank me."

"Even so. I treasure your company, Marinette."

Fresh heat grazed her cheeks. She nestled more into his chest so he wouldn't see. Then they lingered there like that, just holding each other.


	10. Don't You Get Sick of Black?

"Why do you always wear that cloak?" she asked, leaning over to touch his sleeve as they sat together in the parlour. The cloak fascinated her. It looked like shifting shadow stitched into fabric and felt silkier than water.

"It's armour."

"Armour?"

His mouth twitched. "Not immortal, remember?"

She hummed in thought and ran her hand over his sleeve, slipping her fingers underneath the silky border and lightly brushing against skin.

"What are you doing?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Testing its weight."

"Why?"

"Because I'm trying to make sense of it. How is a cloak that feels flimsier than a shawl supposed to be good armour?"

"Magic."

"Well, I figured that." She glanced up, blinking at how close their faces were. Heat bloomed on her cheeks and she pulled back, scratching her cheek. "I-I just meant why a cloak? Wouldn't it have been easier to go with actual armour? Use less magic or something?"

He laughed, his eyes crinkling. "That's not how it works."

"Well, I don't know."

"Here." He stood up and undid the fastenings at the front of his cloak, shrugging it off his shoulders. "See for yourself."

Her hand didn't want to move to accept the cloak. All she could do was stare, her mind stuck on the fact she could see his arms. Which was stupid. Everyone had arms. She had arms. Of course he was going to have arms under that cloak of his—she'd felt them plenty of times when she'd grabbed him to get his attention. But the black tunic he wore was sleeveless, and now she could see his arms, which were slender yet toned and very bare.

"Uh, Marinette?"

She stared at the shadowy material of the cloak he held to her, willing the spreading warmth on her face to disappear. Why was this making her so flustered? It was just his arms. Nothing scandalous about it. Nothing to get worked up over. She'd seen plenty of men's arms back home—knights after training, workers in the fields, her own father when they went swimming. (And, frankly, those men's arms had been much bulkier.)

Except Cat had admitted the cloak was his armour, and he'd never taken it off around her before. Not once.

She peeped up at him from under her lashes. Maybe that was why she felt all fluttery and upside down, like winged jesters had got in her stomach and were doing cartwheels. It wasn't about the unexpected display of skin. It was the trust: the fact that he, a god, was willing to be vulnerable in front of her, even hand her the armour that protected him. That was a gesture worth more than all the pretty tokens her admirers had given her back home.

Her fingers brushed his as she accepted the cloak. "Um, thanks." The fabric spilled out over her lap, black like liquid silk and shadow. "How does it work?"

"Why don't you try it on?"

She slipped her arms into the sleeves and stood up, expecting the cloth to trail down onto the floor, but it adjusted to her height within seconds. Her jaw dropped. Energy whispered over her body, stirring the fine hairs on her arms. Somehow, without being able to pinpoint why, she knew that a knife could stab her right now and would leave a bruise at best. Fire would be dulled. Even a fall from a great height wouldn't be able to crush her.

"You should see your expression," he said with a smile.

Her eyes locked on his. "This is what protects you?"

"Partly. My body can still withstand a lot more than yours." He slipped his hands under her hair, which had got tucked into the cloak, and gently pulled it loose so the black strands flowed free down her back. "This armour is just an added precaution."

"Well, I'll admit it's comfortable." She twisted this way and that, feeling how light and easy it was to move in. "I still don't understand why you have to wear it every day, though."

He shrugged. "It's what I've always done."

"Don't you get sick of wearing black all the time?"

"Honestly, I've never thought about it before."

She hummed and looked him up and down, tapping her finger to her chin.

"What?" he said, eyeing her in suspicion.

"You'd look good in blue."

Pink spilled over his cheeks. "Oh. I, um—what?"

She grinned and stepped closer, clasping his hands. "Cat, will you let me design some new clothes for you?"

"Um …"

"Please?"

His blush deepened, though his expression was more confused than anything, like he didn't understand why she cared so much about his attire. "I guess?"

"Great! Just stand there for a moment. I need to think."

She walked a slow circle around him, taking in his lean build and the simple dark pants, boots and sleeveless tunic he was currently wearing. Nothing elaborate. Nothing to draw attention except the vivid green of his eyes and the long, fair hair that fell to his waist. He would have looked very odd among the nobles back home with their embroidered doublets and jewels glinting like stars from folds of lace.

"You're not planning to do anything weird, are you?" he asked, scrunching his nose as he tried to glance over his shoulder at her.

"You don't trust me?"

"I'm questioning it."

She stepped closer, fighting back a grin. "Always so suspicious."

"Can you blame me when you delight in finding new ways to tease me?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Besides, you're the one who always teases me for not knowing about magic things."

He faced her fully and leaned down so he was more at her eye level. "Well, I have to get you back somehow, don't I?"

Her lips curved. Then a chain slipped free of his collar, catching her gaze. She blinked at the silver ring that dangled from it.

"Oh," she murmured. "I've never noticed you wearing that before."

His fingers closed around the ring. "It was my mother's."

All hint of humour and gentle teasing was gone from his voice. It was like a cloud had passed over him, darkening the light in his eyes and snatching warmth. Right. His mother was gone.

Marinette slipped her hand in his in a silent offer of comfort, not sure what else to do or say. It was obvious he still mourned the loss. He didn't meet her gaze, but his fingers interlaced with hers. Warm. Accepting.

"She was human, you know," he said softly. "Like you."

"Really?"

He nodded and unveiled the ring, letting it rest on his palm. Plain silver, not a single embellishment. "Father chose her as his champion."

"Champion?"

"Warrior, hero. My father's power is that he can grant humans the strength, speed and magic of a god so long as they are linked to him. He saw her potential and chose her. That's how they fell in love …"

Marinette tried to picture it: the god who had officiated their wedding as someone in love, laughing and smiling and being soft with a human. But the image wouldn't settle. He was too cold, too carved in stone and ice.

Cat slipped the ring back inside his tunic. "I think she would have liked you."

"You think so?"

"Yeah." He squeezed her hand, smiling with that rare sweetness that could warm her all the way to her toes when he took her off guard. "I really do."


	11. With These Hands

"There," she said, pulling on his collar to adjust it slightly. "That looks much better."

He stood in front of her with his eyes shut and his arms relaxed at his sides, dressed in the clothes she had crafted from magic. There had been many ideas she'd toyed with, but she'd settled on a sky-blue and pearl panelled doublet. Silver bands separated the colours, delicate enough not to distract too much when combined with the row of silver buttons down his front. A leather belt cinched the doublet slightly at the waist. His pants were tan and tucked into black boots.

"May I open my eyes now?" he asked.

"No, wait."

A soft laugh.

"Why are you laughing?" She shot him a glance as she used a darker shade of thread to embroider a quatrefoil-like pattern onto the panels of pearl fabric, complete with a small, clover-like cross in the middle of each.

"Because I think you're taking this way too seriously. It's just clothes."

"It's not just clothes." She traced curling vines onto the blue panels. "Besides, you agreed to let me do this, so you can't complain."

"I'm not complaining. I just don't understand why you want to go through so much effort."

"It's not effort." She fussed with his top button and smoothed her hands along his shoulders. "Some of us actually enjoy making clothes."

He tilted his head, his eyes still shut. "You do?"

"Yeah. Always have." Her voice softened with memory. "When I was little, I used to tell everyone that I was going to grow up to be a tailor."

"What changed?"

"My instructors quickly pointed out that princesses don't become tailors."

"Why not?"

Her lips twitched. In some ways, he was just as naïve of how the human world worked as she had been back then. "We're supposed to wear the pretty dresses, not learn how to make them."

His brow furrowed.

"Anyway," she said, circling around him to make sure the design was balanced and she hadn't missed anything. "Even if I wasn't a princess, I would have been lucky to do more than embroider a bit of thread to a jerkin had I pursued my dream. Turns out it's pretty much impossible to become a tailor if you're not a man."

"That doesn't seem fair."

She hummed in agreement. "So, you see now why it's not just clothes to me. Fashion has always been my passion. I'm just lucky my parents didn't mind that I liked to design clothes, at least as long as it didn't interfere with my lessons. Too bad I couldn't use magic then. Would have spared my fingers a lot of pain."

"You shouldn't overuse the magic."

"I'm fine." She stopped in front of him, smiling. "And I think I really am done now. You can open your eyes."

Summer-grass green met her gaze, veiled with long lashes. He returned her smile.

Oh.

It was strange how the full effect didn't hit her until then: the black attire gone, his eyes on her as he smiled, warm and somehow looking more human than ever. Not even his pointy ears or the tail peeping out from behind him could shatter the image. He looked like a noble who had come to court. A very attractive one.

She had been right. Blue favoured him well.

Heat crawled up her cheeks and she rushed over, turning him by his arms so his back was to her. "Hold on," she said. "There's one more thing."

"Wha—"

"We can't leave your hair loose like that. It ruins the whole effect."

He sighed, though he sounded more amused than anything. "Am I your doll to decorate now?"

"Just hush and sit here." She steered him onto one of the chairs. "You're too tall for me to reach your hair comfortably."

"Any other requests?"

He was definitely teasing, but her cheeks were hot and all she could think was to not let him see the smears of tomato-red spreading all over her face. Too embarrassing. Too exposing. No way was she going to admit how attractive she found him in those clothes. (Because it didn't mean anything. Anyone could look attractive in a nice outfit. Even that buffoon, Lord Kim, had looked handsome enough to make her do a double-take at the last ball she'd attended, despite the fact he only talked about sports and tournaments.)

Marinette swallowed and stared at the back of Cat's head. Right. Now she had to do something with his hair.

Heart thumping, she stepped closer and slipped her fingers into the golden strands, careful to avoid his ears. She didn't dare to touch the silky fur without permission. Not that it made a difference. It was impossible for her to relax. Every breath she took sounded obnoxiously loud to her ears, and she was even more conscious of him—the rustle of fabric as he shifted on the chair, the slight rise and fall of his shoulders.

"Um, so what do you think of the outfit?" she asked.

"It's not what I'm used to, but it seems nice."

"Seems?"

He tilted his head back to look at her. "Forgive me, I don't know much about human fashion, but I'm impressed at the detail you've put into everything. It's clear you thought about it a lot. I'm sure you would have made a fine tailor had you become one."

Fresh warmth bloomed on her cheeks. "Thank you," she murmured more shyly than intended.

Silence settled. Combined with the rhythmic motion of combing her fingers through his hair, the quiet helped to calm her and cool her heated cheeks. Whatever had sent her senses into jittering hyperawareness slipped away like sand carried back into the sea. Her shoulders relaxed, her breathing evened.

"Uh, Marinette?"

Right. Style.

She gathered his hair into a loose plait and bound it with a blue ribbon. "There," she said. "All done."

oOo

He had to leave the next day. Rather than stay stifled inside, she chose to wander the outer courtyards and gardens. Not that the view was much. Aside from the low hedges, which formed geometric patterns and borders, it was like walking in a rose garden trapped in winter. No flowers, no colour to break up the stone and evergreen. There weren't even weeds.

"I wonder …" she murmured.

The magic that thrived in the castle was born from thoughts. She'd seen it create fabric, tools, and ink out of nothing. There seemed to be no limit, so long as she could imagine whatever she wanted clearly enough.

She knelt next to one of the low hedges, running her fingers over the gritty texture of the ground. Determination steeled her expression. A small shovel appeared in her hands and she dug into the earth, cracking open the tough surface to form a hole. Dirt smeared her knees and got on her cheek. Still, she smiled as she loosened the dirt.

"See, Mylène," she said, thinking of the conversation from all those years ago. "I haven't forgotten."

Marinette had always been fascinated with creating things: clothes, trinkets—anything that could be shaped or nurtured with her hands. She'd loved the gardens back home and often talked with the workers, assisting them whenever she could. Mylène had been her favourite. Only a few years older, but always ready with a smile. They'd had many good conversations while bees had skimmed blue-kissed petals nearby and the scent of rosemary and sage had teased her senses.

_"Why do you have to break up the dirt?" Marinette had asked once. "Can't you just put the plant in the hole?"_

_"It grows better this way. You have to let the roots breathe, see?"_

Marinette's smile widened as she examined the result of her hard work. These roots were definitely going to be able to breathe. The soil she'd prepared was like soft moss to her fingers, pliable and ready to be used.

She settled into a more comfortable position on her knees. "Okay. Let's see if I can imagine this."

The actual flower was easy to picture: ripples of silk layered on top of each other, perfumed with a delicate scent. But the bush with all its untidy ends was much harder. No one tended to care much about the pragmatic underside of things—the stitches that kept a dress together, the roots that dug deep and allowed poplars to reach for the sun. Yet right now that was what she needed to envision.

"Come on," she murmured, closing her eyes. "Focus."

Everything rested on this one thought. This one act of seeing beyond the pretty finish to the framework and parts that gave all things life, just like the charcoal sketches she'd drawn with her fingertip as a child, envisioning outfits yet to take form.

Magic shivered and hummed, a song in her blood and in the air. Her eyes snapped open. The base of the bush rose from the hole, loosened dirt settling back over the roots to hold them safe. Branches spread out, prickled with thorns. Leaves unfurled in proud banners of green. She trembled as the buds came next, sweat beading her forehead.

Just a bit more. Just a bit more magic.

Black smears swarmed her vision. An odd ringing started in her ears, screeching from whatever had clogged her head with water. Or was it wool? Everything felt so strange and heavy.

"Marinette!"

She swayed, cut loose from the power that rippled through her body. Too fast, too much. Arms came around her, and then Cat was there, half cradling her on his lap as he looked down at her. His eyes were wide and anxious.

"Marinette, are you okay? Please say something."

She blinked back dizzy flashes and spots. Her body felt like a cloth that someone had wrung dry, squeezing every last drop of energy out of her. No words wanted to form on her tongue. Her thoughts gathered and scattered like dandelion seeds chased by the wind. But behind him, she could see the rose bush she had created, still standing tall with its colourful leaves. All of the buds were closed except one, which had emerged from its leafy veil like a blushing lady peeping over a fan, pink and delicate.

A smile curved her lips. She had done it.


	12. Promise

The world drifted in and out: snatches of summer green and stone walls that spun and blurred. Arms cradled her, held her close. It had to be Cat. His voice came to her as if she were trapped underwater, calling her name over and over. Other times, all she knew was warmth and a low rumbling. It was like the gentlest of thunder and rain, vibrating against her back in its own peculiar lullaby. But she couldn't move. Couldn't speak either. There was no energy left in her. Not a drop.

"The rosebush has not withered."

Not Cat. The voice was steeled ice, and her brain felt so sluggish that the words were like a child's scribble to her ears, barely making sense.

"What does that matter now? She's—"

"Calm yourself. She will recover soon enough."

"But, Father—"

"And if she does die, she is not worth your concern."

"How can you say that?"

"Don't worry. Your little companion is…"

The voices faded, lost to the ringing and murky wool that filled her ears. She drifted like that for a while, floating in and out of consciousness. Then a warm hand pulled her back like an anchor.

"Marinette, please wake up." Cat's voice was soft yet raw like an exposed wound. "Please. I don't want to be alone again."

Her fingers twitched, but the exhaustion holding her bound did not loosen. He did not let go of her hand.

oOo

Marinette opened her eyes. She was in her room, lying on her bed with the blanket pulled up around her. The anchoring warmth was still holding her hand. She sat up and found Cat half on the floor, half slumped on her bed. It looked like an uncomfortable position. No doubt he'd wake with an aching neck. Probably a sore back, too. His cheek was smooshed into the blanket and his face angled towards her, long hair spilling around him in a halo of wheat-gold. His eyes were shut.

"Cat?"

One pointed ear flicked in her direction. His hand squeezed hers briefly, though it seemed more of a reflex than intentional. He made a soft sound, shuffling and stretching his way into a proper sitting position like a sleepy caterpillar. It was adorable. The fact one side of his hair was sticking up everywhere only added to the effect.

He rubbed his eye with his free hand, then froze as his gaze met hers. "Marinette!"

Suddenly she was being pulled into a tight hug.

"You're awake," he breathed into her hair.

She relaxed into his arms. "Worried about me that much?"

"Of course I was worried." He tightened his hold, letting her feel his thumping heart. "It's been almost a day."

She jerked back in surprise. "A day?"

He nodded.

Her hands found her cheeks, even as half-forgotten memories started to slot back into pace: his concern, the way he'd lingered by her side and called her name as if scared she might never respond. "I had no idea it would be that bad."

"Promise you won't try anything like that again," he said, meeting her gaze.

She glanced down at her hands. It should have been an easy decision. The magic had left her barely conscious, and it wasn't like he was telling her to give it up completely—just the more complicated creations. But she remembered how it had felt to create the rosebush: draining, exhilarating, _right_.

"Marinette?"

"I promise," she murmured, keeping her gaze fixed on her hands. "I won't do it again."

oOo

The rosebush was a beacon of colour in the garden. She ran her fingertip over a silky petal of pink and breathed in the sweet scent. Only one rose had opened fully, but another was already starting to peek free. Her creation was still growing. Living.

"I thought I might find you out here."

She jumped and spun around to face Cat. "Sorry. I just wanted to see if it had really worked."

"You don't have to apologise. You know you can do as you please here."

"I know. I just …"

He tilted his head in question.

_"The rosebush has not withered."_

_"What does that matter now? She's—"_

Her eyes widened. That voice of ice steeled, the words it had spoken. She'd thought it had been a dream, but …

"What?" he said.

"Cat, was your father here?"

He stiffened. The glint of panic in his eyes made snakes wriggle in her gut, knotting themselves up in unpleasant twists. Then he lowered his gaze. "Yes," he said softly. "He was here. I was worried about you. I hoped he'd be able to help."

"I see."

"Why do you ask?" he said, shooting her a side glance under his lashes.

"I heard things … something about the rosebush. How it hadn't died."

Cat moved closer and cradled the rose in his hand. His black claws stood out in vivid contrast against the pink petals. "He was impressed."

"Impressed?"

"You're human, yet you did something neither I or my father can do." His gaze locked on hers. "You created life."

Her heart drummed against her ribs. "It was just a rosebush."

"And yet …" Creases formed on his brow and a red rose formed in his hand, beautiful and full. He offered it to her. The moment her fingertips touched the stem, it withered and fell apart like brown ash.

"Why did it die?" she asked, looking up at him.

"The real question is why did yours live?"

Her lips parted to form a small O. The beating of her heart was distractingly loud, thumping in her ears like a pulsing drum. "Then no one else has ever …"

He shook his head. "Not that I know of. Most objects created by the magic of this castle will simply vanish after a while if they weren't shaped from something else. Life forms are especially hard to create. They will barely last a few seconds, if you can get them to form at all."

That was true. Aside from the outfit Cat had made for her when she'd fallen off the banister, his creations always vanished except—

"The food!" she said, perking up. "That's still considered life, isn't it? And it doesn't disappear. I mean we eat it."

"The ingredients are bought. I simply learnt how to imagine the meals."

A prickling sensation crept down her spine and stirred the fine hairs on her arms. She didn't even know why she was getting so unnerved. Maybe because it was Cat's father who had been impressed by her ability to create life.

"Is that why you made me promise not to do it anymore?" she asked in a small voice. "Because it's weird?"

"What?" He blinked in genuine surprise and grasped her hands. "No, of course not. I think it's amazing what you did. I just don't want you to hurt yourself. No number of roses, no matter how beautiful, are worth compromising your safety."

Her heart stuttered. "Oh. Thanks."

It took every bit of willpower not to wince or smack her palm to her forehead. Thanks? That was all she could say?

"I-I mean, um"—heat flared on her cheeks—"because it's kice of noo to out me." Startled wide eyes. "I mean nice of you to look out for me!"

His head did that cute little head tilt. "No problem. I mean we're friends, right?"

"Y-yeah."

Why? Why was she stuttering?

"I'm going back inside," she declared, and stomped for the castle.


	13. A Warning

"That's a lovely rosebush."

Marinette flinched and spun around to see Mayura sitting on the stone wall, watching her with those winter frost eyes. This was the second time the goddess had appeared while Cat was away.

"Why are you here?" Marinette asked warily.

"I heard an interesting rumour."

"That's no reason to go sneaking into other people's homes."

A smile curved Mayura's lips, sharper than a knife. "My, my, the human has grown bold." She jumped off the wall and closed the distance between them, even as Marinette's heartbeat stuttered and unease crawled under her skin. "Don't worry. I won't hurt you. I actually came to give you a warning."

"A warning?"

"Leave this place."

Marinette blinked. "What?"

"There are things at work here that would claim your life, mortal girl. If you wish to live, you should run." She held out her hand. "I'll even take you to a safe place now if you like."

Marinette's heart thumped faster. She stepped back to put more space between them. "No thank you."

"You don't trust me?"

It would be too rude to say no, even though it was exactly what Marinette was thinking.

Mayura laughed. "Suit yourself. Just know that your husband is not what he seems."

"I trust my husband."

The words came out fiercer than intended, but she wouldn't take them back. She meant every one.

"Oh, really?" The sharp smile returned.

Marinette's fingers curled into her palms.

"Why don't you ask him why he was kept here all alone. Ask him why the other gods want nothing to do with him. Ask him—"

"Enough."

The frosted eyes narrowed. "You dare to try to silence me?"

Marinette's pulse thundered in her ears and thudded through her entire body. Her hands trembled, though she kept them tightly balled into fists. "Goddess or not, this is not your home. I must ask that you leave."

Mayura stared at her for a long moment before she shrugged with that rare grace only she seemed to be able to pull off. "Very well. I see you are too stubborn to listen to reason."

Reason? There were a lot of things Marinette wanted to say in response, but she bit her tongue.

Mayura plucked one of the pink roses from the bush. "You'll allow me a small souvenir, won't you?"

Marinette said nothing. This seemed to amuse the goddess, who smiled and let her wings spread out in feathery black, teal and purple. She held the rose to her nose and breathed in its delicate scent.

"It really is a lovely creation." Mayura met her gaze over the petals. "But a word of advice? Don't let your feelings for your husband blind you. Whether you believe me or not, I was only trying to spare you pain."

"Thank you, but your concern is not needed."

Another knife-sharp smile. "If you say so."

oOo

Marinette sat opposite Cat in the parlour, a chessboard between them. She normally trounced him every time, but tonight she lingered too long over moves and made novice errors. He had won three times in a row.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"That goddess turned up again," she admitted. "Mayura."

He stiffened. "What did she want?"

"She … she said I was in danger. Said I shouldn't trust you."

His eyes widened before he frowned at the chessboard.

"I told her to leave."

His gaze snapped back to hers.

She reached over the board to clasp his hand. "I don't know why she said those things or wanted to take me away with her, but I do trust you, Cat. You're my friend. I know you'd never let anything bad happen to me."

"Wait, she wanted to take you with her?"

"Yes." Her voice took on a sarcastic edge. "She said she'd take me to a safe place."

His brow creased.

"Um …" Marinette bit her lip. "Do you know why she said all those things?"

He shook his head. "I swear you're in no danger here with me. I don't understand it."

They both went quiet. Other questions started to burn the tip of her tongue, the ones Mayura had dared her to ask.

_Why were you kept here all alone? Why do the other gods want nothing to do with you?_

"Cat …"

"Yes?"

She looked at him. At his kind features and even kinder eyes. "Nothing," she said, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter."

He would tell her when he was ready.


	14. Volta

"It's my birthday in two days," Marinette said softly as she stirred her soup to help it cool down faster.

"It is? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

She shrugged. "I guess I forgot. There's been a lot going on."

He leaned forward, his eyes wide with curiosity. "What do humans normally do for their birthdays?"

"It depends."

"How so?"

She placed her spoon down. "Well, not everyone can afford a lavish celebration. Then there are the people who simply have no desire to do anything to recognise their birthday."

"And you? What do you normally do?"

"My parents would throw a ball."

His brow scrunched. "A … ball?"

"You know, dancing, food, people gathering from all over and offering gifts."

"Oh!" He nodded in understanding. "So, it's a feast of honour."

"Sure."

His shoulders drooped and he lowered his gaze.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"It's just … there's only the two of us here."

"So?"

He slumped even more, like some wilted thing about to sink into the chair and vanish from view. "You won't be able to celebrate your birthday like you normally do."

She frowned. Did he really think she'd care that much?

"Well, what do you do for your birthday?" she asked, resting her chin on her palms. Perhaps they could do a god tradition instead.

"Oh." He sat up straighter, pink grazing his cheeks. "Um, well gods tend to have feasts of honour, but I'm … I …"

Right. He didn't have much to do with the other gods.

Wait. Did that mean he'd never experienced a proper birthday celebration?

She stood up and plastered a smile on her lips. "Tell you what, Cat. Let's have a ball."

He blinked a few times, like he was still trying to process what she had said. "You want to have a human ball?"

"Why not?"

"But it'll just be you and me."

She held out her hand to him, a warm smile softening her eyes. "So?"

A faint smile curved his lips, and he stood up and accepted her hand. "Okay then. If that's what you want."

oOo

She designed clothes for the both of them. He prepared the food. There was no music, no other guests in the grand ballroom, but the candles set into the hanging candelabras were like glowing constellations, and her heart fluttered and skipped at the sight of Cat. He really did look good in human clothes.

She'd made him a dark green doublet decorated with black roses. It hugged his slender build and puffed out in the shoulders and sleeves, as was the fashion. His breeches and boots were black, and he'd styled his hair in a long plait, though a few strands had slipped loose to frame his face. When he smiled, her heart pounded even faster.

"You look beautiful," he said.

Heat bloomed on her cheeks. "Yankyou. I-I mean _thank you_."

Ugh. Not again. Though she did appreciate the compliment. She'd spent a lot of time designing her outfit. The gown was the colour of red wine and opened at the front to an underlayer embroidered in gold in a diamond and quatrefoil pattern. The sleeves were flowing from the elbow down, and also embellished with gold where they tapered in near the wrist. Rubies adorned the collar, framed in a thin, golden border. To finish the look, she'd piled her hair neatly onto her head, and ruby earrings dangled from her ears. Her lips were also painted red.

Cat shuffled on his feet and fidgeted with his sleeve. "Um, so what now?"

A smile curved her lips. "Now, we dance."

"Oh." Pink dusted his cheeks. "I um, I don't actually know how to …"

"It's okay. I'll teach you."

She grabbed his hand and guided him to stand next to her, ignoring the _ba-thump_ , _ba-thump_ of her heart. They were so close she could smell the soap on him—clean and fresh.

"First we bow forward," she said. "Then to each other."

He mirrored her movements, graceful yet delayed with uncertainty. She squeezed his hand in encouragement.

"Now two steps forward and a gentle kick," she said, slowing her speed right down as she suited action to word. "Then back two steps and kick."

He followed her directions as she took him through the Queen's Alman, a procession dance with its easy twirls, gentle sways, and skipping steps. They repeated this a few times until he was moving more fluidly and could look her in the eye.

"I think I've got the hang of it," he said with a shy grin.

"You're a natural."

His blush returned, soft like peach blossoms.

They finished the dance and bowed to each other, both smiling.

"Well?" she said, eyes twinkling. "What do you think?"

"Your human dances are quite fun."

"Would you like to try another?"

He nodded.

She took him through a few more procession dances, then dared him to try a volta. They both laughed as they performed the jig-like steps, circling each other as they got closer, closer, closer. Then his hands were on her waist and he raised her up with breath-snatching ease. The warmth of his touch was a shock to her pulse. Her heart stuttered worse than her tongue when he gave her a compliment. Which was stupid. It wasn't like he hadn't been holding her hand just a moment ago. It wasn't like they hadn't hugged and touched each other plenty of times.

He lifted her up again, then again. By the fourth, his cheeks were rosy and her own face felt too hot. Slowly, he lowered her, letting her tiptoes skim the ground until her heels finally made contact with the floor. Neither moved. His hands lingered on her waist. Her heart thumped so fast it was like a drum resounding through her bones.

"Cat …"

His gaze dropped to her lips, then darted back up to meet her gaze. All of her breath got lost somewhere in her throat. Never had his eyes looked so soft, so inviting. She moistened her lower lip.

"Marinette," he said softly.

"Yes?"

"I …"

His ears suddenly twitched, and he released her. "Someone is here."

"What?"

"Stay here. I'll go investigate."

He marched away without a further word, leaving her standing there with her heart pounding, unsure if she was disappointed or relieved. Unsure if she had even imagined the whole thing.

They were just friends, weren't they?


	15. Request

When Cat returned, he had changed back into his armour. Marinette stiffened when she noticed his father was with him. Even standing side by side, they barely looked alike. Cat's father was taller and he wore his silvery hair short. His features were much sharper and angular, and his eyes were colder than steel. He wore a long, dark purple tunic with a dulled-gold collar, but the shoulders jutted in an almost wing-like way. His pants, boots, and undershirt were black. His belt was the same dulled gold as the collar of his tunic, but in the centre was some kind of butterfly … no, a hawkmoth.

She met Cat's gaze, asking him silently what was going on. Then she noticed the third person in the room: a young woman with long brown hair who was standing behind the two, clutching her stomach as if in pain. Red stained through her shirt. She slumped to her knees, though Cat's father didn't even glance at her.

"My champion has been wounded," he said in a voice of dispassionate ice. "I believe you may be able to help her."

"Me?"

He nodded.

Marinette's heart pounded against her ribs. "But I—"

"You created life, did you not?"

Cat knelt next to the young woman, steadying her with his hands. "Father, you can't expect this from Marinette. She's—"

"I did not ask for your opinion. I asked her."

Cat bit his lip and lowered his gaze.

"Well?" Cat's father said, turning his attention back to her and arching his eyebrow. "Will you heal her?"

She plucked at the fabric of her dress. "I …"

_"Promise you won't try anything like that again."_

"Please," the young woman begged, reaching to her with her bloodstained hand. "Please, save me."

Marinette stood frozen. Her heart thumped and thumped, but it didn't matter where she looked because there were no answers offered. Cat's father was cold and expectant, the girl bled and turned paler by the second, and Cat just stared at the floor, even though he was the one who had begged her not to push herself too hard with magic.

"I don't know if I can," she said, curling her fingers into her dress. "I … I've never healed before."

"Try."

The curt response was like the lash of a whip. She glanced once more at Cat, but he didn't meet her gaze. Was it because he didn't dare to go against his father? Because he wanted this to be her decision?

She approached and knelt next to Cat, placing her hand over his. "I'm sorry. I'm going to have to break my promise."

That got him snapping to attention. He squeezed her hand, almost convulsive. "You don't have to do this," he whispered. "Whatever he says, you don't have to—"

"Son!"

Cat flinched and pulled back from her, but his eyes held hers, intense with silent words: that there was still a choice, that she did not have to put her health at risk. Except they both knew that wasn't really true. The young woman had been injured badly. Marinette could not let her stay hurt, not if there was something that could be done. She got the feeling that Cat was the same.

"I'll try," she said, casting a glance up at Cat's father.

A smile curved his mouth. It made the fine hairs on the back of her arms and neck prickle, but she ignored him and focussed on the wound. There was a lot of blood. She placed her hands over it, not quite touching.

"I don't know if this will work," Marinette whispered, "but I'll try my best."

The girl nodded, her green eyes tinged with gratitude and pain.

Marinette closed her eyes and drew on the magic that lived within the castle. It filled her body in a song of power, thrumming and alive. The sensation made sense now. Creation magic. Life magic. Perhaps healing magic as well.

Her eyes snapped open. There was only one thought in her mind: heal, close the wound, fix what had been torn. Her hands trembled. A faint, pinkish glow surrounded the wound, and the air crackled with energy—a storm of invisible lightning and warmth. It was terrifying. It felt so right.

She swallowed, even as beads of sweat rolled down her face. Bit by bit, the skin closed, sealing off the flow of blood. Black dots swarmed her vision, and when she swayed, it was Cat who caught her. His expression was hard to read, but his father's was pure triumph.

"I knew it," Cat's father said, smiling that unsettling smile. It was the most emotion she'd heard in his voice.

Marinette blinked back dizzy stars. The world was spinning and fading in and out of view. It felt like hands were trying to plug her ears and snatch her consciousness.

"Thank you, Lila," Cat's father said, helping the young woman to her feet. "Your service has been most appreciated."

The girl bowed with a sly smile. It was the last thing Marinette saw before the spinning dizziness got too much and everything went dark.


	16. Doubt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may remember parts of this from a deleted scene I posted on tumblr. I didn't think I'd end up using it, but turns out some parts actually fit for this one.

Marinette woke to warmth and a low rumbling vibrating against her back, gentle like a lullaby. So familiar. Was it from a dream? A memory? Either way, it was soothing. The warmth cradling her felt nice as well, especially when it hugged her closer.

Wait.

Her eyes fluttered open, giving her a blurry vision of her bedroom. She was lying on her bed. Someone was behind her, nestled close with their arms wrapped around her waist. Heat swept over her cheeks in a sudden wave.

"Cat?"

The low rumbling—the _purring_ —stopped. He released her in an instant. "Sorry," he said, putting more space between them. "I know you must be wondering a lot of things right now, but please believe me that I had no ill intentions. I was only trying to help."

Her blush burned the tips of her ears. "I'm not sure I follow …"

He was right that his behaviour seemed strange. A part of her wanted to shove one of the pillows at his face and chase him out, god or not. It was wrong that he had lain on her bed with her without her knowledge. It was a total overstep of boundaries. But this was Cat. If he said he'd meant nothing bad, she wanted to believe him. At the very least, she would hear him out.

"My purr can heal," he explained, and then bit his lip. "Well, it has a small self-healing effect. I didn't know if it would do anything for you, but you just kept sleeping and I was worried."

"Oh."

It was all she could say. Butterflies stirred in her stomach, ephemeral and fluttering.

"I really am sorry," he said, lowering his gaze. "I didn't mean to alarm you. I swear I would have never—"

"Cat."

He sucked in a breath.

"It's okay."

His eyes darted back to hers. "What?"

"It's okay," she repeated. "You were worried. You wanted to help. I understand."

All the tension eased from his shoulders. It was sweet how much he cared about her opinion of him.

She shuffled to sit up more, but she moved too fast. Flashing splotches danced before her eyes. Cat's hands grasped her arms, steadying her.

"Don't rush yourself," he murmured.

She leaned into him, happy to let him take on some of her weight. Anything to make the room stop spinning. "How long was I out?"

"Two days."

Something hollow yet heavy settled in her stomach. That was even longer than when she'd made the rosebush.

He brushed the loose strands of hair from her face, his touch featherlight, yet there was something about the way he looked at her that made her heart thump and thump and thump. "I'm sorry," he said.

"What have you got to be sorry for? I'm the one who broke my promise. I knew what I was getting into when I healed that girl."

An odd twitch passed over his face.

"What?" she said.

"I …"

She waited and waited but all he did was lower his gaze.

"What is it?" She touched his hand. "You can tell me."

Something glistened at the corner of his eyes. Tears? She blinked in surprise.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, and then he was standing and heading for the door.

"Wait, Cat—"

But he was already gone. She tried to follow, but her body was too weak and she collapsed against the pillows in defeat. It was frustrating. It was confusing.

Why had he got so upset when that girl was mentioned? What had he been about to say?

Her brow furrowed. "Lila …"

Yes, that was the girl's name. And Cat's father had thanked her … because she was his champion? His power was something to do with making humans into powerful warriors. It made sense if that was the case. Lila must have got injured while serving him, but that still didn't explain Cat's behaviour …

Marinette frowned at the ceiling. Maybe he was just upset that she'd had to break her promise. He'd certainly seemed stressed when his father had put pressure on her.

Yes, that surely had to be it.

oOo

"Looking for me?" Mayura asked, landing gracefully in the courtyard.

Marinette stilled. She didn't want to admit that she had been coming out to the garden more of late, nor that her gaze had often drifted to the walls and sky in search of a winged silhouette. After Cat's dramatic exit, she had expected they would return to the conversation at some point, had even expected some lingering tension. But he was as sweet and attentive as ever, acting as if nothing had happened. She didn't know what to make of it. Just thinking about it made something wriggle in her gut like a whole nest of snakes had got inside. It made words she'd wanted to forget gnaw their way into her mind.

_"There are things at work here that would claim your life, mortal girl."_

_"Why don't you ask him why he was kept here all alone. Ask him why the other gods want nothing to do with him."_

Marinette bit her lip, her heart thumping. No, she did not want to admit that she had been looking for Mayura. She stood straighter, raising her chin. "Is it a game for you to sneak in uninvited now?"

"But you did invite me." Mayura pointed her fan towards Marinette's heart. "In there. All that unease and doubt. It must be uncomfortable."

Marinette's hands curled into fists. "This was a mistake," she muttered, turning away. "I want you to leave."

"No you don't. You want answers."

The cool voice held her frozen as sure as frost sneaking up her feet and hardening into a prison.

"Go ahead," Mayura said. "Ask me."

Marinette's heart thumped faster. She didn't trust this goddess, but she couldn't deny that little things had started to stick out—like the fact Cat's father seemed to have no problems associating with his son when he wanted, or how Cat always retreated into a shell whenever conversation got too close to why he was not allowed to live as freely as the other gods.

There was a secret here. A big one.

"Why?" she said softly. "Why is he kept in this castle? Why was he always alone before I came?"

"Because he killed a god."

Marinette's eyes widened. "Wh-what?"

"Not just any god. He killed the Protector, our previous leader."

She shook her head. "No. No, there's no way he—"

"It's true." Mayura gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Granted, the council concluded it was an accident. If he had been older, he likely would have been executed, but he was seven years old and his father argued very persuasively on his behalf."

"Seven?" Cold sweat trailed down Marinette's spine like a clammy fingertip. No. This could not be possible. Not her Cat. Not like this.

"Destruction is powerful magic. Not even gods can withstand the full power of a cataclysm. That's why he's kept here in this castle. The council feared he would lose control again." Her lips curved into a knife-sharp smile. "You see, your husband is just a wild animal kept on a leash, only allowed out when the balance requires destruction. That's the truth."

Marinette shook her head. "You're lying."

"I'm not."

"You have to be!"

"Think what you will, but I promise you that is the truth."

"I don't believe you." Marinette balled her hands into tight fists. "I don't know why you've come here to spread these lies, but I know my husband. He hates to hurt people. He would never destroy anything if he had the choice."

Mayura spread her fan, holding it up so half her face was veiled behind black feathers. "Oh, child, you have fallen hard, haven't you?"

Heat grazed Marinette's cheeks.

"I told you not to be blinded by your feelings. You would do better to consider the more important issue."

"And what's that?"

Mayura lowered the fan just enough to reveal a hint of a smile. "Who is holding his leash?"

Creases formed on Marinette's brow.

"Farewell, mortal girl." A black feather was plucked from the fan and blown towards her. "Should you wish to leave this place, you need only hold that feather and call for Mayura."

"That won't be necessary."

"Then throw it away." Mayura shut the fan with a snap and spread her wings. "It's your choice."

She left before Marinette could respond.


	17. God of Destruction

She waited on the bottom step of the grand staircase for Cat to return. It was so much like that first time, except when the door opened and he stepped inside, there were no barbed words. She simply closed the distance between them and threw her arms around his middle, burying her face into his chest. Her eyes prickled.

"Marinette?" He hugged her without hesitation. "What's wrong? What happened?"

She clutched him tighter. "Cat …"

"What?"

He sounded so concerned. It only made her eyes prickle even more. Hot tears formed, clinging to her eyelashes.

"Mayura was here again."

His whole body stiffened and he pulled back to meet her gaze. "What did she do?" he demanded in a low voice, though it was obvious his anger was directed towards the goddess. "If she hurt you, I swear I'll—"

"No." The first few tears rolled down her cheeks. "No, she didn't hurt me. We just talked."

As fast as his anger had risen, so did it disappear. He clasped her face in his hands and brushed her tears away with his thumbs. "What did she say?"

"She … she said you killed a god."

All the colour drained from his cheeks. His hands trembled and fell limp to his side. "What?" he whispered.

"She said that's why you're kept in this castle. You killed the previous leader of the gods."

He stepped back, pale as chalk. Somehow, despite the fact he was much taller than her, he looked so small in that moment. It made her heart pound and pound, but not in the nice way.

"Cat." She reached for him, her eyes imploring. "Please, tell me it's not true. Mayura was lying, right?"

He lowered his gaze.

"Right?"

They stood there in silence: she still with her hand outstretched while he avoided meeting her eyes. There wasn't even that much distance between them, but it felt like a wall had sprung up to stop her from closing those last few inches. All she could do was stare and stare, willing him to say something.

His eyes slid shut. "It's true," he whispered.

"What?" She covered her mouth, horrified and confused. "No. No, no, no. You're—that can't be true! You would never—"

"It's true, Marinette." He turned away from her, hugging his arms to himself. "I don't really remember it, but I … I did kill him."

She stood there in shock, her tongue stuck. No words wanted to come out.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

Still, she could say nothing.

He trembled, shoulders hunching. Seconds passed, and while she knew she had to do something, say something, it was like she was frozen. Never had she thought that Mayura had been telling the truth.

"I hate my power," he said softly. "I hate that all I can do is cause destruction. I hate that everyone is scared of me." His voice wobbled, raw with emotion. "But what I hate the most is that they're right. They have every right to be afraid. I lost control once. Maybe it'll happen again. Maybe—"

She dashed forward and hugged him from behind. He stiffened like stone but did not pull away.

"No," she murmured into his robe. "They're wrong."

"You didn't want it to be true either."

"You're right. I didn't want to believe it, but now I see it doesn't matter if you killed that god."

His head turned towards her. "How can you say that?"

She squeezed him tighter, wanting him to understand. Hoping he would feel what she was trying to say. "Because I know you, Cat. You're sweet, you're kind, you're gentle."

"I killed a god."

"You were a child!"

He pulled away, but only so he could face her. His eyes were tinged with red and tears glistened on his cheeks. "Doesn't that just make it worse?"

She shook her head. "I'm sure you didn't mean to do it, just like I know you would never harm anyone by choice now."

The odd twitch passed over his face again, the same expression he'd made when she'd mentioned Lila that one time.

"What?" she said.

He closed his eyes and fresh tears rolled down his cheeks. "I don't think you should stay here."

Whatever she'd been expecting him to say, that was not it. All she could do was stare blankly. "What?"

"It's too dangerous and—"

"Stop, stop!" She pressed her hands to his chest. "Just stop!"

He wasn't allowed to say those words. He wasn't allowed to sound like Mayura.

"Marinette." The way he said her name was like a sigh. "Please, don't make this harder."

"You're already making it hard!"

"I'm trying to do the right thing!"

She curled her fingers into his robe. "By getting rid of me?"

He placed his hands over hers, holding them against his chest. She could feel his heart pounding and pounding against her palm. "I would never want you to leave my side."

"Then why are you asking me to?" she demanded.

"Listen, I can't explain why exactly you're in danger, but—"

"No, _you_ listen!" She got one of her hands free and poked him in the chest. "I don't care if I'm in danger. I've already given up my family, my friends, my kingdom." She swallowed against the lump in her throat. "You're not allowed to tell me to give up you too."

His eyes widened. "Marinette …"

"You're not allowed, okay?"

He cupped her cheek with his hand, and she couldn't help but lean into his touch. "I don't know if I can protect you," he admitted. "I wish I could say I can, but I just don't know."

"Then I'll learn how to protect myself." She held his gaze, her heart pounding a sweet but thundering song. "Just don't tell me to leave."

A shaky breath escaped him. They stared at each other before her gaze dropped to his lips. Soft. Tempting. It would be so easy.

She looked up at him, questioning. He dipped his head, letting their breath intermingle, letting her choose if she really wanted this. So she leaned up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.

Just like their first kiss, something brushed against her soul, stirring scattered pieces that had been buried deep within her. It was almost like using creation magic—a sense of power, a sense of _rightness_. Except this was nothing like their first kiss. His lips slanted against hers, all silk and tingles. She wrapped her arm around his neck and opened her mouth to him.

They shared breath, let their tears intermingle, and then finally just held each other.

"I'm not leaving your side," she murmured into his chest.

This time, he didn't argue.


	18. You Can’t Fix This

Marinette sat in her bedroom and stared at the black feather, twirling it round and round so the faint glimmers of purple caught the light. Cat had explained that Mayura had once been friends with his father. That was how she knew so much. He didn't know what had caused the rift between them. He didn't know why she kept visiting Marinette either. No one but his father, when permitted, and the god who brought his food supplies was supposed to come to the castle.

"I don't know if we can trust her," he had said, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I wish I knew more."

Marinette believed Cat. He wouldn't lie to her or omit information, not if he had a choice. She was beginning to suspect, however, that he did not always have that choice.

_"Listen, I can't explain why exactly you're in danger, but—"_

The words niggled. Everything about the situation niggled. She knew how much she meant to Cat. He had been so lonely before she had come. He'd begged her to wake up because he couldn't bear to lose her. But today he had told her to leave.

Why? What was he so afraid of?

_"Who is holding his leash?"_

Her brow furrowed. There was no reason for Mayura to say such a thing if the obvious answer, the council, was not correct. Someone else was pulling the strings. Could it be a council member working against the others? No, that didn't seem right. Besides, the only other god who had shown an interest in her was—

Icy tendrils crept through her heart. All those niggling little pieces suddenly connected. She saw in her mind a god who had no qualms about pushing her to use magic. A god who had silenced Cat with a single word, even made him flinch.

A god who had suggested and overseen her marriage.

"No way," she whispered.

Her fingers curled around the feather, half-crushing it in her trembling fist. Then she dropped it and dashed from her room, calling for Cat. The stone hallways were cold on her bare feet.

His father. Of course it was his father.

"Cat!" she called.

He came out of a room, dressed in some kind of sleep robe. A distracted part of her realised that had to be his bedroom.

"What's wrong?" he asked, swiftly closing the distance between them.

"It's your father, right?"

He stiffened. "What?"

Her epiphany spilled out of her in a rambling babble—or at least some of it. His eyes widened and he clamped his hand over her mouth, firm enough to muffle her words. She froze. Seconds passed. He just stood there with his hand silencing her, breathing hard. Her mouth went dry and her heart thumped faster and faster.

"Don't say anything more," he whispered.

 _Why?_ she screamed with her gaze. _What's going on?_

"My father … I can't …"

He struggled to get the words out, almost as if he was the one being silenced with a hand to his mouth. Her pulse throbbed uncomfortably in her neck. It felt like something cold had slipped down her throat, getting bigger and bigger until it settled like a stone weight in her belly.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I thought I'd get more time to figure something out."

She tried to speak, though it came out mangled and barely understandable.

He released her. "I'm so sorry."

"Cat, what are you talking about?"

His eyes met hers, torn like everything in him was being ripped apart. "I have to tell him."

"What?"

He started to head for the staircase. "There's still time for you to leave. You're smart. I know you can find a way to escape. Just don't tell me where you're going and—"

"No!" She marched forward and grabbed his hand. "I told you I'm staying."

"Marinette, please."

She gripped his hand tighter. "Whatever is going on with you and your father, I'll face it with you. We can figure it out together."

He brushed the back of his hand against her cheek, though his expression was pained. "You can't fix this."

"But—"

"He _knows_."

She didn't understand, but Cat also didn't bother to explain. He bolted down the stairs faster than humanely possible. There was no way she could catch up.

oOo

Cat's father arrived at the castle not long after—tall, imposing, and wearing an expression of hardened steel. Cat trailed behind him like a shadow. She gritted her teeth at the sight. Though Cat's hands and feet were unbound, he had might as well be chained. It was in the slump of his shoulders, the way his eyes only whispered silent apologies to her.

_"You can't fix this."_

"Mortal."

Her gaze snapped back to Cat's father.

"I'm not going to waste time by pretending as if we both don't know why I'm here," he said smoothly. There was a small, calculated pause. "Of course, I could just kill you right now. It would be the most efficient way to keep you silent."

Her breathing hitched and her heart tried to tattoo itself to her ribs. Cat gave one of those slight twitches, but he did not move or speak. It was only his eyes that exposed his feelings: the horror, the guilt, the plea for her to run.

"But you won't," she managed to say, tearing her gaze away so she could meet his father's gaze. "You need me for something."

It was the one thing she was certain of. Everything he had done—the threatened destruction on her kingdom, the marriage, even bringing that wounded girl, Lila, to the castle. She was sure he had planned all of it.

A faint smile curved his lips. "Clever princess."

Shivers slipped down her spine. The compliment sounded more like a threat coming from him.

"But then you had a peacock whispering warnings in your ear, didn't you?" he said, moving closer. "Mayura always did like to poke her nose in where it didn't belong."

"I would have figured it out eventually."

"Perhaps, but that doesn't matter now. You are going to help me."

She stood her ground as he towered over her, even though her throat was choked up with a lump of fear. Even though her heart pounded so fast it made her dizzy. "Why would I ever help you?"

"Because I think you'd agree that my desire is quite noble. I simply wish to bring the goddess of creation back to life."

Her jaw dropped. She glanced at Cat to see his reaction, but he just stared at the floor. Was it true then? Or was it a lie?

"I don't believe you," she said.

"Then don't believe me, but regardless of what you think, you will help me." He placed his hand on her shoulder, his touch like an iron weight and making her skin crawl. "My son will do whatever I ask of him. Do not make me use that in ways that will be unpleasant for all of us."

Her fingernails dug crescent wounds into her palms. Cat kept his profile to her, but she could see the tension in his body like a band pulled tight, desperate for release. He must have been ordered not to interfere.

_"You can't fix this."_

"What do you need me to do?" she said grimly.

Cat's father smiled. "I want you to heal a tree."


	19. The Goddess and the Tree

A torch was lit. Elongated shadows flickered over the courtyard like eerie guardians, but Marinette just stared at the dead tree in the centre. All those times she'd wondered why it was there. All those times she'd wondered why Cat had been drawn to it.

Had he always known?

She glanced at Cat, who trailed his father with slumped shoulders and downcast eyes. The guilt coming off him was like a thick haze. She wished she could go to him, wished she could comfort him. Something whispered it wouldn't do to reveal just how deeply she cared, though. Not in front of his father.

"I just heal this tree?" she asked.

Cat's father—or Hawkmoth, as she had taken to calling him in her head—nodded. "You could say that this tree is like a prison for the goddess of creation. If you bring it back to life, she will be freed."

"That's it?"

"That's it," he confirmed.

She frowned and approached the tree. The bark was cold against her palm. It didn't feel like anything special. No pulsing thrum of magic, no spark of life. She didn't even know how she was supposed to fix it.

"What are you waiting for?" Hawkmoth asked.

Frustration itched at her tongue, making her want to snap. It was fear that held her back: fear for Cat, and fear for her own safety. Hawkmoth was a powerful god. He had already threatened them both. It would not do to get on his bad side.

"I'm trying to figure out the best way to do this," she said. "I've only healed once before, and that was a person."

Hawkmoth waved his hand in a dismissive manner. "You've already proven you have the ability. The principle is the same."

Her frown deepened. He seemed to know a lot about creation magic. A part of her wanted to ask how he had learnt about all of this—the goddess, the tree, the fact that she seemed to be the only one who could create life with the magic. But his expression said, _Hurry up or else_.

Her heart thumped faster. She turned back to the tree and placed both hands against the trunk. A fresh lump of unease got lodged in her throat. What if this was too much for her? Cat certainly looked at her with wide, panicked eyes. If he were not being restrained by his father, she was sure he would have blocked her from even touching the tree.

But he could not do anything.

She closed her eyes and called upon the magic. It filled her like a warm breeze, spiralling up and up until it started to crackle with energy through her veins. The energy flowed through her palms and seeped into the tree. A pinkish glow illuminated the courtyard.

"Yes," Hawkmoth hissed.

Marinette gritted her teeth. This was nothing like healing Lila. This was like being connected to a stone wall, and she somehow had to fill it with life. Tremors crept into her hands, her limbs. Sweat beaded her forehead. The more that she clung on, the more her body protested. Her heart stuttered and fluttered in sickening rolls. Her vision turned to starburst, smears of black, but even then she could tell that the tree had barely changed. She'd used all that magic and it still looked as dead as ever.

"Father!" The word burst from Cat like water gushing from a broken dam. "Please! It's too much for her!"

"Silence!"

"Please, just let her have a break! The tree will still be here if …"

The voices grew dim and fuzzy, swallowed up in a high-pitched ringing. Everything began to tilt and cloud, as if the courtyard were just a scene in a snow globe and had been tipped upside down. Then hands grabbed her arms, snapping her back into awareness.

Cat looked anxiously down at her. "It's okay," he whispered. "I've got you."

oOo

She woke once more in her bed to warmth and purring, though this time the purr kept stuttering to a stop as if it was a struggle to maintain the sound.

"Cat?"

He mumbled an apology and started to pull away, but she grabbed his arms and kept them around her waist.

"Don't," she said softly. "Just stay with me like this."

"You … really want me to?"

His voice sounded small. Fragile.

She held his hands against her stomach, running her thumb up and down his skin in a gentle caress. "Yeah."

His breath fanned the exposed skin on the back of her neck. "I thought you'd hate me."

"I could never hate you."

"Not even after everything that's happened?"

She leaned back more into his chest, still tracing an aimless pattern on his hand. "It wasn't your fault. He knows your true name, doesn't he?"

Cat stiffened before he seemed to just slump like some defeated thing. "Yes," he whispered.

"I'm sorry."

His arms tightened around her. "I'm the one who should be saying sorry. None of this would have happened if I hadn't been so foolish."

She slipped her hand in his and intertwined their fingers. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's a lot."

She squeezed his hand. "I don't mind."

He returned the gentle squeeze and then, in a halting voice, told her of how he had ended up under Hawkmoth's control. Gods were all born knowing their names, but they could not share them until they were at least fourteen years old. It was a blessing of protection built into the magic. A child's brain just wasn't developed enough to understand the significance of keeping their true name a secret.

But Cat's mother had vanished when he was seven. A few days later, he'd accidentally killed the leader of the gods. So he'd been locked away—no mother, not even a father half the time. He'd been kept under strict guard by a mute god until he was thirteen, and then even that god had been taken from him.

"I was lonely and terrified," Cat said. "My power was only growing with every year that passed, and I was sure I was going to lose control again. All it would take was one mistake. So when my father said he'd help me, I … I wanted to believe him. He said if he knew my true name, he would be able to stop me from hurting those I wasn't supposed to. He said he could protect me and everyone else."

Marinette's grip tightened on his hand. "But he controlled you instead?"

"Not in such an obvious way at first, but yes. I soon realised my mistake."

She rolled over to face him. "I'm sorry, Cat. I'm sorry your father did this to you." She wrapped her arms around him, wishing that doing so would let her take all of his pain into herself. "You've already been through so much."

He returned the hug, burrowing his face into the nook created by her shoulder and neck. There were many other things she wanted to say—how Hawkmoth was a terrible father; how fathers were supposed to love and protect their children, not use them like chess pawns. But none of those words would change anything. None of them could fix this mess.

"What does he even want with the goddess of creation?" she murmured. "Why do any of this?"

"I don't know …"

Her brow furrowed. "Why do I get the feeling you actually do?"

He sighed, shuffling against her. "Let me put it this way. I can talk about the control my father has over me now because you already know about it."

She stilled. "You mean he's given you orders not to speak of his plan."

"Yes."

That meant she'd have to figure things out on her own.

He pulled back enough to meet her gaze. "I'm sorry—for this and everything else. The truth is, I didn't know what he was planning for you until after you created that rosebush. I'd hoped if you didn't show more of your magic, he wouldn't be able to tell that you were the one he wanted, but …"

"The wounded champion, Lila. He set it up as a test for me."

"I think so."

Marinette had to repress a shiver. Lila could have bled to death had she not been healed. It said a lot about Hawkmoth and his champion that they had been willing to take such a risk.

She nestled closer to Cat, both for comfort and to give him comfort. "Where is your father now anyway?"

"He left, but he'll be back once you've recovered so you can try again."

The creases returned to her brow. "You were ordered not to interfere with the tree healing, right?"

"Yes …"

"But you did anyway. You spoke up for me."

He bit his lip. "Sometimes I can resist him. Not enough to really go against his orders, but enough to express how I feel."

Her expression softened and she leaned on her elbow so she could look down at his face. "Thank you for helping me. I know that can't have been easy."

"I would do anything to keep you safe, Marinette."

The words were said so simply, just a statement of fact. Her heart fumbled on its rhythm and she found herself lost in the green of his eyes. It was instinct that guided her into lowering her lips to his. They kissed, chaste but lingering.

"We'll figure this out," she whispered. "Somehow, we'll find a way to free you from your father and end all of this. I promise."


	20. Training

The next morning, Cat handed her his black robe and told her to wear it.

"But this is your armour," she said.

He pressed it more into her hands, closing her fingers over the shadowy fabric. "I want you to have it."

"Won't you be more vulnerable then?"

"My mother may have been human, but I'm still a god." His gaze met hers. "And I'll feel a lot more comfortable knowing that you have better protection, especially with my father coming here."

She bit her lip. Perhaps he had a point. "Okay, if you're sure …"

He helped her into the robe and even did up the tie for her. Heat grazed her cheeks. It felt oddly intimate. He was so careful, so respectful with every touch, and the way he smoothed the fabric along her shoulders and down her arms left her warm and filled with flutters.

"Thank you," she said more shyly than intended.

He smiled, though a pinch of strain lingered in his eyes. "You can change it to look however you like. It shouldn't interfere with the protection magic built into it." His tone took on a teasing lilt. "I know you're not a big fan of black."

"I don't mind it so much," she murmured, running her hand along the fabric. The colour reminded her of him.

Still, she did change the robe to suit her style more, reshaping it into black pants and a jerkin the colour of the reddest of apples. Even with her arms covered only by her white shirt, she could tell that her entire body was protected. It was just an innate understanding.

"Looks good," he said, and then grabbed her hand. "Now you're ready."

"Ready for what?"

His expression turned grim. "Training."

She tilted her head. "Training?"

"You wanted to learn how to protect yourself, right?"

Her heart thumped faster, though whether it was from alarm or anticipation, even she couldn't say. "Wait, Cat, just what are you planning?"

He tugged on her hand so she was forced to follow. "You'll see."

oOo

They stood opposite each other in the ballroom. He tossed her a wooden staff, which almost slipped through her fingers when she went to catch it.

"Aside from magic and hand-to-hand combat, some gods use a weapon to fight," he explained, and thrust his hand out and grabbed an ink-black staff from what seemed like thin air. "This is mine."

Her heart started its little thumping beat against her ribs. "Cat, I appreciate that you want to help me protect myself better, but I'm just a human. I can't fight a god."

"With my armour and weapon, you'll at least have a fighting chance."

Her eyes widened. "You want to give me your staff?"

A smile curved his lips. "Well, you'll have to prove you can handle it first." He thrust his hand out behind him and the weapon vanished to wherever it had come from. Then he picked up a wooden staff identical to hers and leaned on it in a deceptively casual way. "That's why we'll start with these."

She lifted the staff, testing its weight. "I've never fought with … well, anything before."

"I know it might feel awkward to hold, but the staff will be a good weapon for you. You're small—"

Her lips pursed.

"Don't give me that face. You know it's true."

Unfortunately, she really couldn't argue. He was taller than her by several inches, not to mention much broader in the arms and shoulders despite his slender build.

"Swords and axes have a shorter reach, and bows are unwieldy," he said, and moved closer to tap his staff to hers with a light clack. "With this, it's easier to defend and keep your distance. That'll work in your favour."

She bit her lip. "Do you really think this is necessary?"

He gripped her shoulder. "I think we should do all that we can to make you stronger. I don't know everything my father is planning, and don't forget that he has the ability to create warriors. At least with this, you'll know how to defend yourself."

She nodded and took a firmer grip on the staff. "Okay."

"Then let's begin."

It was like a dance. He slowed the basic moves right down, getting her to mimic him and adjusting her stance when needed—which was more than she cared to admit. The staff felt clunky in her hands. It was difficult to remember how to position her feet. But Cat was patient. More than patient. Somehow, he really believed that she was worthy of being bestowed his weapon. It made her want to try harder. To succeed.

"Good," he said, blocking her staff from striking his leg. "Let's try that faster."

A tentative smile curved her lips.

They continued to practice until she was sweating and wishing for a bath, but she had at least got the basics down. It was like training with Cat had awakened some rusted, half-forgotten part of her, and this Marinette knew how to fight: how to root her feet for balance but also move fluidly into the next attack; how to anticipate her opponent's moves and dodge and parry. Even Cat was surprised by her rapid progress.

"You really are a fast learner," he said in awe. "I mean I hoped you'd pick up the staff as quickly as you did the creation magic, but that you managed to master the basics in one session is amazing."

Her brow furrowed. "I don't know if it's that."

"What do you mean?"

She lowered her gaze to her hands. "Sometimes I get these strange feelings …"

"Feelings?"

"It's like … like I've done all this before. Even when we kiss, I …" Heat spread in waves over her cheeks.

"What?" he said softly.

"Nothing."

She was too embarrassed to admit that it felt impossibly _right_. They'd only kissed on three occasions—one being on their wedding day—and while she enjoyed kissing him and was sure that he cared about her a lot, everything was still so new. Telling him the truth would be like shedding her clothes right now to stand naked in front of him. Too exposing. Too vulnerable. She just wasn't ready.

"It's nothing," she said, shaking her head. "Don't worry about it."

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. She got the feeling he wanted to push the issue, but he was too polite.

"Um, okay," he said, rubbing the base of his neck. "Let's take a break then. We can start training again when you're ready."

Her jaw dropped. "You want to keep training?"

"Father has realised he can't expect you to heal the tree in one go. I want to make full use of that."

A sigh escaped her lips. Well, she couldn't argue with that. It seemed she was about to get very familiar with her wooden training staff.


	21. The New Routine

_Clack!_

The wooden staffs connected. Marinette leapt back, swinging low to knock Cat off his feet. He jumped. Suddenly, there was a wooden blur and the blunt tip of his staff was mere centimetres from her face. She could almost smell the woodsy scent. Her heart thumped and thumped. A bead of sweat dripped down her forehead.

"You left yourself open again," he said, one corner of his lips curving.

Her eyes narrowed and she shoved his staff away, countering with a flurry of strikes. He ducked, parried, and weaved around her with all the effortless grace he possessed. That only made her more frustrated. Faster. She had to be faster.

They fought, weapons colliding in a series of _clacks_ and arm-juddering blows. Cat was holding back, but if he didn't put in enough strength to match her, his weapon would fly from his hand. Of course, the same went for her.

_Thwack!_

She skidded back across the floor, digging her heels in so she wouldn't topple over. Cat stood waiting in the centre of the ballroom with his staff in hand, raising his eyebrow as if to ask what she was waiting for.

A growl was ripped free of her and she charged, swinging the staff like a demon. His eyes widened a fraction. He dodged her first few attacks, but as she went for his head, he simply caught her staff with his hand. It was like she had hit a wall. Nothing budged.

"Cat," she gritted through her teeth. "You said you wouldn't use your full strength."

"Do you know why I stopped you?" he asked, not letting her staff go.

Frustrated words bubbled to the tip of her tongue, but then she exhaled and lowered her gaze to the floor. "I attacked in anger."

"And if I was my father, I would have taken advantage of the openings you gave me and done a lot worse than stop your staff."

Her shoulders slumped.

"Hey." His finger and thumb found her chin, tilting her head up so he could meet her gaze. "It's okay. You're doing amazing. Really amazing. I just have to be strict because—"

"I know."

She couldn't afford to get into bad habits. Cat was teaching her everything he could to make her a warrior fit to defend herself against a god. That would mean nothing if she got herself killed by acting reckless.

He smiled. "Don't worry. I have faith you'll get me down eventually."

Her lips pursed. "There's no need to rub it in."

"I was trying to cheer you up."

She stepped back and took a firmer grip on her staff. "Just shut up and fight."

His teeth flashed in a grin, and then he charged.

oOo

Just like every other evening, Hawkmoth came and watched her perform the healing magic on the tree until she was too weak to stand. Marinette hated it. She'd rather go back to getting her butt kicked by Cat in the ballroom—now training room—but there was no way to escape Hawkmoth. No way to escape the tree either.

It had felt so dead at first. Now, she could feel the pulse of life thrumming deep, deep in the roots like a tiny heartbeat. It was … unnerving. Sometimes, when she stood with her hands pressed to the gnarled trunk, it seemed like the tree was trying to reach for her too. Like it _knew_ she was there.

"How did the goddess of creation even get trapped inside that tree?" Marinette asked later, once Hawkmoth had left and Cat had carried her to her bed.

He sat on the edge of the bed. "Your guess is as good as mine. I didn't even know it was a prison for the goddess of creation."

"But I used to see you sitting in that courtyard and just staring at it."

His brow creased. "I suppose it does seem strange. I just felt drawn to it, I guess."

"What do you mean?"

He traced a circular pattern with his fingertip on her blanket. "I don't know how to explain it. It's like something in me just wanted to be near it."

She scrunched her nose. "To a creepy, dead tree?"

He shrugged.

Well, perhaps it made sense. He was the god of destruction. Creation and destruction had always gone hand in hand. Perhaps he'd just felt drawn to the goddess trapped inside, if she really was in there.

"Is that feeling stronger now?" she asked.

"Not really. Why?"

"I just ..." She bit her lip. "I wish I knew what your father was planning. I don't like that tree."

He opened and closed his mouth, and his expression grew pinched with strain—all tight lines and furrows.

"It's okay," she said, placing her hand on his. "I know you'd tell me if you could."

He hung his head. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine."

His mouth twisted and he looked the other way. Clearly, he did not think it was fine. He was always so quick to blame himself, always so quick to act as if he had let her down for something that he had done who knew how many years ago.

Now that she thought about it, she should probably ask him his age. It was weird not to know.

"Cat, how old are you?"

He blinked. "Er, twenty-four."

"Wait, seriously? You're only twenty-four?"

"Yes." His shoulders hunched a little. "Is that bad?"

She waved her hands in a negating gesture. "No, no, of course not. This is—I just thought you were way older."

He frowned. "Why?"

"Because you're a god. Don't you age differently?"

"It's not like we spend a hundred years as a child or anything. Once I hit my peak strength, I'll stay like that for much longer than a human. That's all."

That made sense, though mostly she was still reeling at finding out he was the same age as her.

"What brought that on anyway?" he asked, still looking a bit at a loss.

She smiled. "It doesn't matter now."

She didn't want to keep reflecting on the depressing things. There was so much going on, so much that she still couldn't figure out or fix. It was overwhelming. It made her want to make the most of the time she had now—no pressure to train, no Hawkmoth breathing down her neck. So she grabbed Cat's hand and tugged him closer. He didn't resist, allowing her to guide him down until she was snuggled against him on the bed. Pink tinged his cheeks in delicate brush strokes.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" she asked softly.

His blush darkened.

"Not like that," she spluttered, realising how her words might have sounded. "I-I just meant like this. Sharing."

"Of course." His arms came around her. "If that's what you want."

She smiled and closed her eyes, relaxing more into him. "It is."


	22. Dream

It was darker than a moonless night. No silvery star glow, no flicker of fire. Marinette was trapped in a haze of black that left her blind even to the outline of her hands. She shuffled through the narrow passage, sliding her palm along the wall. It seemed to go up and up, twisting, and grazed her skin like the gritty caress of pumice. The air tasted of earth: moist, deep, like a heady perfume tinged with rot. Aside from her own breathing, the only sound that disturbed the stillness was a quiet _ba-thump, ba-thump_. Not her heartbeat. This was something else.

Shivers crawled over her arms and neck, stirring the fine hairs. She swallowed and continued deeper, almost stumbling when the ground sloped sharply. The earthy perfume got stronger. The pulsing beat got louder, thundering through her bones.

_Ba-thump. Ba-thump._

It was as if each beat was shaping into an invisible force and pressing down on her. But it didn't hurt. It just made her body tingle and her heart pound, jarring the rhythm with its own skittery song.

A sliver of light gleamed in the distance.

She walked faster and faster. Things took shape from the shadows: the narrow, curved walls that boxed her in; the chamber that glowed up ahead, reddish pink like a sunset. It made her pause. Hesitate.

Wood. Everything was made of wood.

Her throat felt sticky and clogged. She swallowed against the unpleasant sensations, still hesitating on the edge of the light.

_Ba-thump, Ba-thump._

The pulsing beat was so loud now that she couldn't separate it from her body. It tugged at her. Called her.

Marinette stepped back into the shadows, her heart hammering against her ribcage. "No," she whispered. "This is—"

oOo

Her eyes snapped open. The room was dark, but at least it was her room.

She licked her dry, cracked lips. Her heart was still pounding too fast, and cold sweat had left her clammy and chilled. She huddled into Cat, grateful for his warm presence. He made a sleepy sound and shifted his arm so she could curl against him more comfortably.

"Sorry," she whispered. "Did I wake you?"

"It's fine."

Her fingers played with his collar. "I had a weird dream."

"Oh?"

"I think I was inside that tree."

He nuzzled into her hair, pressing a sleepy kiss to her head. "It was just a dream, Marinette."

"Right …"

Of course it was just a dream. Of course it meant nothing.

She closed her eyes and tried not to think of narrow, wooden passages or pulsing beats. When she fell asleep, however, she found herself right back in the tree's dark embrace.

oOo

"You sure you're up for this?" Cat asked, frowning as he leaned on his staff. "We can take a break today if—"

"I'm fine." Marinette shifted into the fighting stance. "Let's do this."

He nodded. There was no signal to start the fight. A real one didn't have such luxuries. He simply lunged, her instincts reacted, and then she was holding her staff up horizontally with two hands as his slammed against it. The force pushed her back. She rode the momentum, swinging for a counterattack.

_Clack!_

Their staffs met again. Her arms trembled as she tried to hold him off. His lips twitched.

"You sure you want to get into a battle of strength with me?" he asked.

"Who said I was?"

His eyebrow rose.

In a flash, she wrenched herself free of the deadlock and grabbed his belt, sliding between his legs and looping the leather around one of his ankles as she went. Then she tugged. Hard.

_Thunk!_

His back smacked the ground, black tunic fluttering open. She was on him in an instant, staff pressed to his neck.

"You lose," she said.

He lay there for a moment, stunned, and then he laughed. "Well done, Marinette. Not the tactic I was expecting, but it worked."

She removed her staff from his neck. "I knew I'd never get you down if I relied on the moves you taught me. You still have the advantage in strength and experience."

"Spoken like a true warrior. Understanding your limitations and how to compensate for them is the best skill you could have."

The smile he gave her stirred butterflies and shy coils of warmth. Or maybe that was because she was still straddling his hips, and he didn't seem to mind lying there underneath her with his hair dishevelled and his chest bare. She couldn't stop staring.

She should probably stop staring.

Heat grazed her cheeks and she scrambled off him, coughing to clear her throat. "W-well, now that I've won, what next?"

He sat up. "Now you try with a real weapon."

The black staff materialised in his fingers, gleaming like onyx. He held it out to her. It was smooth metal and hummed with the promise of magic. It was also light. She gave it a few test swings, impressed with how easily it glided through the air.

"I can't give you the actual power of a god like my father can, but that"—he nodded at the staff—"will make it possible for you to fight one if you're smart." The warmth in his eyes suggested that he did not think this would be a problem for her. "It's imbued with extra strength, you can make it longer or shorter if you wish, and it's flexible."

"How do I change the size?"

He talked her through how to use the staff, then tossed away the wooden one he'd been holding and took up a fighting stance.

"Now," he said, "let's see how you fare when I'm fighting with no weapon."

"Shouldn't it be easier for me?"

He wiggled his fingers. "I still have claws."

It was the silliest thing he'd ever said, and it had her laughing.

"What?" he said, affronted.

"Alright, kitty." Her lips curved. "Show me what you can do with your claws."

oOo

Night came too quickly. The tree waited in the courtyard, twisted like a gnarled creature with its spindly branches clawing for leaves. Her heart thumped and thumped. She could still remember the dream—the haze of darkness, the pulsing beat. If she touched the trunk, she'd feel it again. The life she had granted. The life that called back to her.

"Why are you just standing there?" Hawkmoth asked. "We do not have all night."

She approached slowly, touching the grey-tinged bark with hesitant fingers. The tree hummed as if greeting an old friend. Her skin prickled. It was more awake tonight. More … sentient. Not that it made her happy to see her efforts were working. Something about this tree just unsettled her, like it could see right through her walls of bone and flesh to the soul within.

"Is it the goddess trapped inside that makes the tree so aware?" she asked.

Hawkmoth raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

She shook her head, not wanting to explain. He kept too many secrets and did not have her best interests at heart. She could not trust him.

Biting back a sigh, she called upon the magic and let it flow from her, let the pinkish glow bloom free like a misty rose. Every drop of healing life that flowed into the tree was a theft of her energy, but she had to go along with Hawkmoth's plan. At least for now. This was the only way to gain time—to get stronger, to learn more about the goddess and the tree. More importantly, she needed time to figure out how to free Cat from his father's clutches.

 _I will save him_ , she thought grimly. _No matter what it takes._


	23. Decision

Her dreams were always the same now. The dark passage, the pulsing beat, the light that beckoned. She had never dared to enter the chamber. Tonight, she found herself wondering what would happen if she did. Maybe the dreams would stop. Maybe she would finally have some answers.

Her heart fluttered like a bird battering itself against a cage, desperate to escape, yet she still moved towards the glow. It was just a dream. Nothing could hurt her in a dream.

She stepped inside the chamber. A web of paths spiralled up and up above her head, too small for any human to use. There was no real exit except from the way she had come. Not that she was thinking of retreat in that moment. At the centre of the chamber, on a dais of knotted wood, some kind of cocoon throbbed and hummed, pulsing with pinkish-red. This was what emanated the light. This was what created the pounding beat. Even now, its siren song drummed through her bones, resonating deeper and deeper as if trying to reach her soul.

"What do you want from me?" she whispered. "Why do you call me here?"

The light pulsed brighter.

She hesitated to get closer. Every hair on her arms and neck shivered. Was it the goddess inside the cocoon? Was it simply where the magic gathered, like a seed of life waiting to burst free? Or was this all just a concoction of her imagination?

No. This wasn't normal. People didn't just dream about being trapped in dead trees every night.

She was so tired of not knowing. She was so tired of being used like a tool.

"Why?" she demanded, balling her hands into fists. "Why do I have to dream about you? What do you _want_!"

The shout echoed but was soon swallowed up by the resonating beat. It made her feel small. Helpless. She had might as well scrabble at rock with her bare hands.

She let out a frustrated sound and was about to turn away, but then a coil of smoky red emerged from the cocoon. Her eyes widened. It slowly solidified until it was like looking at a woman etched onto stained glass: transparent, translucent, oddly vague. Her eyes were just indentations of glassy red.

"No way," Marinette breathed. "You … you're …"

The goddess tilted her head. "A human?" Her voice was like honey and silk. "Interesting."

Marinette's brow creased.

"You don't know, do you?" the goddess said, and looked Marinette up and down. "I wonder then why you seek to free me."

"It's not me. It's this other god. The god of warriors or—I don't even know what he is. He makes humans into powerful warriors."

"The god of transmission."

Marinette nodded. "Well, he wants to free you, but I don't know why. He's forcing me to heal the tree."

Glassy eyes glinted. "Tell me more."

So Marinette told her everything she knew about Hawkmoth, Cat, and how the true name binding had brought them to this point. It was a relief to get it all out, a relief to think she might get some answers. Surely the goddess of creation would help? The stories about her had been vague, but she had always been known as benevolent.

"Do you know why he would do all of this?" Marinette asked, once finished.

A smile curved the goddess's slit-like lips. "He's a fool."

Marinette blinked.

"Child." She stepped closer, her smile widening so much it looked as if it should crack and shatter her to pieces. "Continue to heal the tree. I will deal with this Hawkmoth for you once I am free."

The hairs on the back of Marinette's neck prickled. She resisted the urge to step back. "I …"

"You think I'm not capable?"

"No … I just …" Marinette swallowed. "How did you even get stuck in the tree?"

"Ah, now that is a long story." She waved her hand in a dismissive manner. "It matters not now."

"But—"

"We are both remnants of creation, child." She smiled and reached out her glassy, translucent hand. "You can trust me."

Marinette's heart thumped faster. She did not accept the proffered hand. "I want to know why you're in this tree."

"Then heal it." The goddess's body began to crumble like a scattering of red stars, turning back to smoke.

"Wait!" Marinette scrambled forward. "Don't leave yet! I still have questions!"

But the smoke had already slipped back into the pulsing cocoon.

oOo

"I don't know what to do," Marinette said, standing with Cat in front of the twisted, old tree.

She had told him everything about the dream. It was a risk since there was always the chance he'd report to his father, but she didn't want to keep secrets from him. Not about this. Fortunately, they still had plenty of hours until Hawkmoth arrived and forced her to heal.

"There is maybe one person who can help," Cat said, though he sounded reluctant.

"Who?

"Mayura."

Knots twisted in Marinette's stomach. "You want to go to _her_?"

"I know you don't trust her. I don't either. But the fact remains that she no longer has anything to do with my father, and she's tried to warn you before. It's possible she knows about his plan—more than I do. And, unlike me, she's not bound to his bidding. She can actually talk to you."

"But—"

He gripped her shoulders. "I'm not telling you to leave."

"Good, because I don't plan on leaving you."

His expression softened and he moved his hands up to cup her face. "Look, all I'm saying is that Mayura could have the answers you need. That dream, the goddess …" He shook his head. "I don't like it either."

Marinette bit her lip. "I guess it's worth a try."

They were running out of time. Running out of options as well.

"Okay," she said, raising her chin in determination. "I'll do it. I'll call for Mayura."

He brushed his thumb against her cheek. "Then I'll leave you to talk with her."

"But—"

"It's better if I don't hear what Mayura has to say. You're already taking a big enough risk."

Her mouth twisted. She stared into his eyes, torn and frustrated. It wasn't fair that Hawkmoth had so much control over him. It wasn't fair that he couldn't stay at her side. He was so good, so wonderful.

He didn't deserve this.

She grabbed his collar and tugged his lips down to hers, kissing him fiercely. Desperately. "It won't be like this forever," she whispered. "I _will_ find a way to free you."

His only response was to pull her back in for another kiss, but she heard his gratitude in the exchange of pulse-jumping, velvet caresses and silent words. She heard his hope.

oOo

The feather was a little crumpled from where she'd crushed it in her fist, but it was still a silky black, flecked with purple. She held it before her. "Mayura! I call you!"

A faint glow emanated from the feather and it rose up from her hand, floating on its own. Then it vanished.

Marinette stared grimly at the sky. She didn't have to wait long. A creature appeared with silver and teal wings. It almost looked like a peacock, except it was much larger and had horns like a dragon. It landed in front of her.

"Where's Mayura?" Marinette demanded.

The creature lowered its head. _Get on_ , it clearly said.

She threw a frantic glance back at the castle. "No. I don't want to leave. I just—"

But the creature didn't care. It snatched her up with its beak and took off into the air. Marinette was leaving the castle, leaving _Cat_ , whether she liked it or not.


	24. His Plan

Mayura's home looked like a spear jutting from a ring of jade. Even from a bird's eye vantage point, it was easy to miss. The forest shielded the entire tower-like structure, and the white stone was veined with ivy, blending into the foliage. There did not appear to be a front door. Not that it mattered. The creature swooped right through one of the glassless windows and dumped Marinette unceremoniously on cold, marble floor.

"Welcome, mortal."

Marinette stood up, her knees throbbing with soon-to-bloom bruises. She was in some kind of hall. White pillars rimmed the room, and beautiful hangings trailed from the ceiling, all of which were deep blue and embroidered with a gold fan that was reminiscent of a peacock's plume. At the head of the hall was an ornate chair—more of a throne, really. Mayura sat upon it. Her smile was like the chill of a winter frost.

"Why did you bring me here?" Marinette demanded, too annoyed to be polite. "I didn't want to leave."

"And yet I was very specific with my wording when I gave you that feather."

Marinette gritted her teeth.

"Why so upset? You clearly wanted me for something." Mayura crossed one leg over the other and spread her hands. "Here I am."

It was difficult to swallow back the words that wanted to spill free. Getting snatched by some giant bird monster was not part of the plan. Leaving Cat alone was definitely not part of the plan. Still, Mayura was right. Marinette had wanted to talk. It would be stupid to waste this opportunity.

"Fine." She straightened, looking Mayura directly in the eye. "I want to know everything you know about the god of transmission, his plan to release the goddess of creation, and how to break a true name binding."

Mayura arched a thin eyebrow. "I see you have learnt a few things."

"No thanks to your games. You could have been clearer that it was his father I had to worry about."

"You forget that I am the goddess of emotion. I knew that your feelings for your husband would make you stay with him, no matter what I said."

Heat rushed over her cheeks.

"Feelings are dangerous too, you know," Mayura said softly. "More dangerous than any sword or great magic. They are the strings that turn people into puppets. Just look how you have danced for the god of transmission." She shook her head, her expression almost pitying. "You really are a foolish girl."

Anger simmered deep. Marinette wanted to defend herself, wanted to say that she didn't regret what she felt for Cat, but she still found herself lowering her gaze. "Please, just tell me what you know."

"Very well." Mayura flicked her fan open, fluttering it to and fro. "It all started with a human. A young woman named Emilie. She was a peasant. Nothing special. Certainly no warrior. But she prayed to the god of transmission. She wanted the power to fight for her kingdom, and he decided to give it to her …"

As the story unfolded, Marinette realised that she had heard of Emilie: a warrior from the northern lands who had taken down entire battalions on her own and helped to end the war. The Gold Knight, the stories called her. The woman blessed by the gods. Emilie had gone missing twenty-five years ago. Now Marinette knew what had happened.

Hawkmoth had fallen in love with her. He'd brought her to the world of the gods and they'd had a child together.

"Emilie died from illness seventeen years ago," Mayura said in her cool, detached voice. "That fool couldn't accept it, though. He wanted her back, and he was willing to do whatever it took."

Marinette's eyes widened. "The goddess of creation. That's why he wants to release her from the tree. He thinks she can bring his dead wife back to life!"

"Indeed."

Creases formed on her brow. "But is that even possible? I mean the dead are … dead."

"It has already been done."

"What?"

Mayura's voice softened. "The last goddess of creation, Carmine, had a younger sister. That sister died and was brought back, but such an act is a gross violation to the gods. The balance was torn, the cycle of magic broken."

Something heavy settled in Marinette's stomach. "Carmine was punished, wasn't she? That's why she's trapped in the tree."

A nod. "Death was supposed to be her fate, but she was too powerful. The gods were forced to use … more creative measures. Of course, after she was sealed away, the truth was covered up and no one involved was allowed to speak of it. Overcoming death has always been an alluring concept, even for gods."

"But then how did Hawkmoth—"

"Find out?"

Marinette nodded.

"Rumours will get around in one way or another. Hawkmoth, as you call him, chose to confront the Protector and demand answers."

"Wait." Marinette's heart thumped uncomfortably against her ribs. "The Protector was the last leader of the gods, right?"

"Yes."

Her heart thumped faster and faster. Cat had killed that god only a few days after Emilie had died. Could it be a coincidence? No … not when the punishment had been to isolate Cat in the very castle where the tree stood. Hawkmoth must have known. He must have planned for it.

Hate twisted up her insides. Bitter, burning. That he could do such a thing to his own son.

Mayura snapped her fan shut. "It took him years to piece together the rest—years of searching through books of prophecy and learning all there was about creation magic and reincarnation. But the fact remains that his goal is and has always been one thing: to bring Emilie back to life."

Silence filled the hall. Marinette didn't know how to respond. On the one hand, this was Cat's mother. From the way he had spoken about her, he had loved her deeply and would want to see her again. On the other, the thought of helping Hawkmoth made everything in her recoil, never mind the questionable act of bringing a person back to life.

"Does my husband know?" she asked.

"He knows that his father wishes to revive Emilie, yes."

Marinette's frown deepened. "And the sister?"

"Hm?"

"The one that Carmine revived. What happened to her?"

"She was kept as isolated as your pitiful husband. A living abomination that no one wanted to be around."

The words were stated flatly. No emotion. No judgement.

"That doesn't seem fair," Marinette said, furrowing her brow. "It wasn't her fault that she was brought back to life."

A soft laugh. "He said the same thing once."

"He?"

Mayura stood up from her throne, beautiful even with her oddly bluish skin. "Question time is over."

"But the true name—"

"Oh, that one is a hopeless case." She waved her hand dismissively. "No one has ever figured out how to undo a true name binding." Her lips curved into a knife-sharp smile. "Not that it matters. You won't be seeing your husband or the god of transmission again."

Marinette's eyes narrowed, even as her heart lurched and leapt to her throat. "What?"

"It's nothing personal. I just don't want Papillon's plan to succeed." Bitterness laced her voice like a subtle poison. "I won't allow it."

"You can't just keep me here!"

"Yes, I can." She closed the distance between them, walking in slow, measured steps. "You see, even if you are a remnant of creation, you're still just a human. Weak, fragile, and—"

Marinette yanked the black staff free from where it had been attached to her hip, hidden under her shirt. Cat's weapon. Her pulse throbbed in her neck, and she was conscious of the monstrous bird lurking behind her, blocking the window.

Mayura paused. "Do you really think you can stop me with that?"

"I can try."

"Foolish mortal." Mayura unfurled her fan and held it up close to her face, hiding the smile that was undoubtedly curling her lips. "You have no idea what you're up against."


	25. Mayura

It was the bird that attacked, lunging like an oozing mass of feathers. Marinette ducked the sharp beak that came for her head, her heart jumping and rattling around in her chest as she felt air whistle against the exposed skin on the back of her neck. Too close. Far, far too close.

Heart in her throat, she scrambled away, holding her staff up defensively. The bird let out a screech of shattering glass and scraping eardrums. Then it charged, its huge talons winking wickedly. She found herself on the defensive: dodging, parrying, using every ounce of agility she had just to avoid the snapping beak. The bird was large, but it was fast.

Mayura's laughter rang through the hall. "You're doing better than I thought, but you're no match for my sentimonster. Why don't you just give up now?"

Marinette darted to the left, narrowly missing being swatted by a huge wing. She blocked a second swipe, though her arms trembled and threatened to give out. Cat's warnings filtered through her mind: _Don't get into battles of strength. You won't win._

Wrenching the staff back, she dropped to the floor and rolled under the wall of silver feathers, rising up fluidly on one knee to slam the staff hard into the sentimonster's belly.

_Thwack!_

The sentimonster collided with the wall, dazed and leaving a spreading web of crumbling stone. Cat hadn't been kidding about the extra strength imbued into the staff.

Marinette turned to Mayura, flicking a loose strand of hair out of her face. "You were saying?"

Mayura's eyes narrowed. She stepped forward, her expression hardening like the ice that stills lakes in winter. "You're going to regret challenging me."

Perhaps that was true. Marinette knew it was crazy what she was doing. Her heart hammered against her ribcage and she swallowed, trying to ease the dryness in her mouth. There was a very real chance that she would lose, but regardless she had to fight. She had to try.

She made the staff elongate and swung—a huge, sweeping strike. Mayura leaned back in a graceful curve, letting the staff glide right over her. Their eyes met, and a tiny smile curved Mayura's lips. Then she charged.

If the sentimonster had been fast, Mayura was faster. She moved like fluttering blue silk, ducking and weaving around the staff, getting closer and closer. Not good, not good. Cat had shown Marinette how easy it was to get the staff out of her hands once a god got close enough, weapon or not.

She used the staff to vault right over Mayura and landed in a crouch, quickly lashing out with a low strike to the feet. Mayura jumped. Still in midair, the goddess threw her fan like a throwing star, which spun and spun in a blur of black.

_Clang!_

The fan ricocheted away, but Mayura's fist was another matter. The blow hit Marinette full in the chest, sending her back several paces and gasping for breath.

Mayura paused, tilting her head. "How are you still standing?"

Marinette's fingers trembled as they moved over the red jerkin that she wore. Cat's armour had protected her. If she had not been wearing it, her bones and internal organs would have been crushed in an instant. It was a terrifying realisation, but it also gave her courage.

Adrenaline pumped through her veins. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She gripped the staff with both hands and glared at Mayura. "I won't let you keep me here!"

She charged, not in anger but in sheer determination. Mayura's eyes widened and she was forced to go on the defensive, dodging and darting away from the relentless onslaught like a feather on the wind. It was easy for her as well—at least at first. Then something changed in Marinette. Fresh energy hummed in her legs. Her body felt lighter. Swifter. Or maybe it was just sheer grit that pushed her to go beyond what was humanely possible.

"What's the matter?" she taunted, swinging at Mayura's neck with a vicious strike. "Not so bold now that you can't take me down with one hit?"

Mayura leapt back, wings sprouting free to help her get farther away. Marinette gritted her teeth and got ready to extend the staff, but then there was a scrabbling sound. Pain ripped down her back, pulsing deep into her nerves.

The sentimonster!

She cried out and stumbled away before the sharp talons could come for her again, thrusting her staff out like a barrier.

_Clang!_

The razor-sharp talons curled around the staff, trying to wrench it from her grasp. She clung on but was soon tossed aside like a rag doll, staff and all, and collided with a sickening crack against the wall. Black splotches danced before her eyes. Her back stung in hot, pulsing shocks. Perhaps she hadn't been shredded to ribbons as she might have been, but the armour could only do so much. Cat had warned her it was better to avoid being hit.

 _Too late for that_ , she thought, fighting back the dizzying waves that threatened to keep her down.

Mayura landed in front of her. "My, my, you don't look well." A chilling smile curved her lips. "And yet you were so full of bravado a moment ago."

Marinette struggled to raise herself up on her arms, which trembled like jelly. "Why?" she gritted out.

"Excuse me?"

"Why do this? Why fight me at all? I'm not an ally of the god of transmission. We could have worked together if you really wanted to stop him."

Mayura looked at her almost pityingly. "You just don't get it, do you? You're a remnant of creation. He _needs_ you."

"That doesn't mean I'd help him."

"You already have been." Mayura shook her head. "I cannot risk letting you free. No matter what, I won't let him bring Emilie back." Poisonous bitterness crept into her tone. "I won't let him have a single scrap of happiness."

Marinette struggled to one knee. Still too dizzy to stand. The staff was not far, though. Maybe if she just kept Mayura talking …

"You really hate him, don't you?"

"So what?" Mayura said.

"So why? What did he do to _you_? Weren't you friends? I mean, you know all his plans, so he obviously trusted you once."

Mayura went quiet, and then she just looked tired. "Do you remember what I told you about feelings, mortal?" she said in a soft voice. "They're far more dangerous than weapons or magic. Even as the goddess of emotion, I never understood that until I met him."

Marinette frowned.

"You say he was my friend, and indeed that's how he came to me when he arrived at the tower. For the first time in centuries, I met someone who was not repulsed by my broken nature. Someone who sought _me_ out." Her hands balled into fists. "Do you understand what I'm saying? He made me love him. I would have done anything for him then."

Marinette stretched her hand towards the staff, fingertips brushing metal. "What happened?"

Mayura laughed humourlessly. "I learnt that it was all a lie. He had never wanted to help me get justice for the half-life I was forced to live. He only wanted Emilie back. In the end, I was just a pawn."

Sister. A half-life. Justice.

Marinette's eyes widened, her fingers freezing on the staff. "You … you're …"

Mayura stared at her with those winter frost eyes. Eyes that had seen death and overcome it.

Heart pounding, Marinette closed her fingers around the staff and swung. Mayura cried out as she was knocked backwards, but Marinette didn't stick around to see if she got back up. She ran. She ran and ran, slamming the sentimonster aside, and then dived right through the window.

The ground rushed for her at an alarming rate. Her hair whipped out behind her, and she was sure she had left her stomach back up in the tower. Any moment she was going to go splat. It was a truth being tattooed to her ribs. Then she thrust the staff down like a spear. Her body jerked, her arms ached in protest, but her fall slowed and her feet soon touched the leaf-strewn ground.

Marinette yanked the staff free. She shrunk it until it was small enough not to be a hindrance and dashed into the trees, pursued by the sound of flapping wings. She could only pray the trees would give her enough cover.


	26. The Fox and the Turtle

Marinette's chest heaved. She ran and ran through the forest, heart pounding, vision blurring. Her body ached and the sticky, stinging pain that throbbed through her back told her that she was bleeding. But she could still hear the wings flapping. Wind ruffled the trees, made the leaves hiss. The sentimonster followed. Perhaps Mayura did as well.

She couldn't stop. She had to keep going.

Suddenly, her foot dropped—right through the forest floor. A half-strangled yelp escaped her and she tumbled into darkness, bumping and rolling down a narrow chute until light gleamed and she found herself sprawled on a floor of soft leaves and grass. She spat out a leaf, groaning.

A pair of black boots came into view. Her breath caught in her throat and her heart thudded faster. An auburn-haired goddess stared down at her, dressed in the colours of a fox. The goddess tilted her head in curiosity, her long, black-tipped ears twitching.

"Now what is a human doing here?" she asked.

oOo

Her name, or at least the one she offered, was Rena Rouge. The tunnels were her home: a warm, cosy den where she lived with her partner, Carapace. Both looked like young gods, maybe in their late teens. Both also didn't hold much love for Mayura.

"You're lucky we spotted you," Carapace said, handing Marinette a cup of water. He was dressed in casual green pants and a matching shirt. His amber eyes were reassuringly friendly. "Mayura doesn't tend to let her prey go."

"And I'm grateful for your help," she said, "but I really need to get back to the castle."

"Castle?"

"Where my—"

"Found 'em!" Rena Rouge came back into the room, waving something white in her hand. "Bandages. Let's get that back of yours fixed up."

Marinette knew better than to protest, even if she was in a hurry. She was bleeding and probably did need medical attention. So she removed the red jerkin, which shifted back into a black robe of shadows.

"Woah," Carapace said, eyes widening. "Magic armour."

She blinked. "Do you not all have armour like this?"

"Not at all." He touched the material. "For a human, you've got some pretty cool stuff. This armour is crazy rare. Someone must think you're something special if they gave you this."

"My husband lent it to me."

"Oh? Who's he?"

She didn't answer, too busy wondering if Cat was okay. He would have noticed she was gone by now. Perhaps he would think she'd changed her mind and chosen to leave him. He was always so quick to believe the worse.

"Marinette?"

She shook her head, pushing aside the worrying thoughts. "He's the god of destruction."

Carapace stiffened. Even Rena Rouge, who was normally all confident smiles, looked grim.

"What?" Marinette said.

"That god killed my predecessor," Carapace said softly.

Something heavy dropped in her stomach, settling like a cold lump. "He didn't mean to do it, you know. He was only seven. It was an accident."

"So we've heard," Rena Rouge said. "The guy is still dangerous, though. I mean the council keeps him locked away."

"He's not dangerous. He's sweet and kind and funny and—"

She loved him. It was a truth that had tiptoed around her heart, whispering its way into the life-giving beat. Now, that truth burned strong and clear. She loved him. She could not imagine being with anyone except him.

"I need to get back," she said firmly. "I don't care if you don't understand. I don't care if you don't want to help me. I'll figure out where the castle is myself and walk the whole way if I have to."

Rena Rouge and Carapace exchanged a glance. He nodded.

"How about we get your wound bandaged first," Rena Rouge said, gesturing for her to turn around so she could get at Marinette's back. "Then we can talk more about how you're going to get to your castle."

oOo

"This is crazy," Marinette murmured, standing opposite an exact replica of herself. "It's like looking at a mirror."

Rena Rouge grinned. "That's because my illusions are perfect."

"But will it really work?"

Carapace emerged from the other room, now clad in heavy armour and with a round shield strapped to his back. "Don't worry. Even if Mayura and the sentimonster don't fall for the trick—"

"Which they will."

He threw an amused eyeroll at Rena Rouge. "Right. Well, on the very slim chance that they don't fall for my amazing girlfriend's magic"—his gaze shifted back to Marinette—"I'll be there to protect you."

Marinette bit her lip. She knew that they both still had reservations about Cat, but they were willing to put those doubts aside to help her. It meant more than she could express. After her experience with Hawkmoth and Mayura, she had almost given up hope that anyone in this world, aside from Cat, had a shred of kindness in their hearts.

"Thank you," she said. "I … I don't know how to repay you."

"No repayment necessary," Rena Rouge said, waving a dismissive hand. "Just try not to get hurt again, eh?"

Marinette smiled. "I'll try."

oOo

The light was fading. What was left wriggled through the gaps in the branches and veil of leaves to illuminate a path—at least just enough to see. Soon, however, it would be too dark to go on without a torch. Marinette's heart stuttered with worry. Hawkmoth always arrived at the castle when it grew dark.

She glanced at Carapace, who ran alongside her. (Rena Rouge had headed in the opposite direction with the illusion decoy.)

"How much farther?" she asked.

"Not too far. We just have to—"

The leaves hissed and the ribbed branches swayed. Her steps faltered. Suddenly, a stream of purple tore through the trees, ripping everything apart like giant's hands. The groaning _cracks_ and _snaps_ were felt in every bone of her body. She blinked, frozen, as bits of bark and leafy ash flew everywhere. Nothing touched her. Carapace had tugged her behind him and raised his shield, which allowed a glowing barrier to surround them both.

His predecessor had been known as the Protector. Now it made sense.

Sharp talons shot down through the hole that had been created in the wall of trees, followed by the body of a massive, monstrous bird. It was the sentimonster.

"Looks like the plan didn't work," she muttered.

"We don't know that." Carapace grunted as the creature struck the barrier with its talons, scrabbling and screeching its terrible, glass-scraping wail. "Maybe Mayura sent the sentimonster this way while she went after the decoy."

"Maybe …"

Her gaze darted from tree to tree, but there was no trace of Mayura. Maybe he was right. That was a small blessing at least.

She removed the black staff from its holster. "So, what do we do? I've fought this thing before and managed to get it down, but it also wasn't doing that purple light thing then."

"Perhaps Mayura didn't want it to ruin the furnishings."

Her lips twitched. "Was that a joke?"

"Just trying to lighten the mood." The sentimonster rammed even harder against the barrier, and he gritted his teeth. "Although I should warn that I can't keep this up forever. We're gonna have to do something about the sentimonster if we want to leave."

"Can you fight and still maintain the barrier?"

He shook his head. "The shield is my weapon, and the barrier will break if I move from this spot."

Her brow creased. That meant they'd be exposed to the purple light. She wasn't sure her armour could take such a hit.

"What about my weapon?" she asked. "Can it pass through?"

"The barrier only blocks from one way. You could walk out right now if you wanted."

Her lips curved. "Got it."

He shot her an alarmed glance. "Wait, what are you planning?"

She held the staff grimly. "Wait for it …"

"Wait for what?"

The sentimonster flapped back with its wings, then rushed forward. Marinette counted the seconds and aimed the staff up, letting it extend in a powerful rush.

_Thwack!_

The tip of the staff collided with the sentimonster's chest, sending it careening back against a tree. Branches snapped off, tumbling with the creature as it landed in a feathered, graceless heap on the ground.

"Now!" Marinette yelled.

Carapace understood immediately. He lowered the barrier and threw his shield in a soaring arc, striking the sentimonster clean in the head with a satisfying _crack_. Black sparks burst like a violent release of spores. When the dust settled, a single black feather lay on the ground.

She blinked. "Is it dead?"

"As dead as a sentimonster can be." Carapace grabbed his shield and then beckoned for her to follow. "Come on. We better hurry."

oOo

Night fell. Marinette and Carapace left the forest and headed over a stretch of fields, hugging the rocks and shadows. He lit a torch for light, though he kept it shielded with his hand so they would not make themselves an obvious target.

"You okay?" he asked when he noticed her lagging. "We can rest if—"

"No. I want to keep going."

He frowned. "We won't make it to the castle tonight, you know."

"I know. I just …" She lowered her gaze, slowing her pace. "I hope Cat's okay."

Hawkmoth would be expecting her. Maybe he'd blame Cat for her absence.

"I know how you feel," Carapace sighed.

Right. He'd left Rena Rouge to deal with Mayura.

"But there's no need to push yourself this hard." He placed his hand on her shoulder. "You've been through a lot. I'm sure I can find us an alcove with decent cover so—"

"Thank you, but I'd prefer to keep moving."

He held her gaze and his frown deepened. She raised her chin, silently daring him to argue.

They continued to run.


	27. The Important Thing

Dawn arrived in hands of pink and gold to cradle the horizon. Marinette blinked at the light. The cuts on her back ached in deep, pulsing throbs. Her legs felt as wobbly as a newborn lamb's and blisters smothered her feet, stinging sharply with every step. Still, she knew if she slowed that Carapace would force her to rest again. They'd already wasted two hours last time. She didn't want to waste any more.

Carapace grabbed her arm. "Someone's coming."

"What?"

He shoved her behind him and got his shield ready. Sure enough, a person sped towards them, black cloak fluttering out like trails of shadow. Their long, wheat-gold hair seemed like a beacon of light in contrast.

Her heart thudded faster, resounding through her body.

"I don't recognise them," Carapace muttered. "Could be one of Mayura's—"

"No." She stepped forward. "It's him."

"Huh?"

Tears slid down her cheeks. She ran. She ran and ran, not caring that she was wounded and half-dead on her feet. She ran until his green eyes were bright before her vision and she could throw herself into his arms, locking her legs around his waist.

"Cat," she breathed.

Then she slipped her hands into his hair and kissed him. She kissed him like she was parched earth and he was the first drops of rain. Kissed him like he was oxygen and there was nothing left in her lungs. And he embraced it. He melted into her like honey to heat: soft, welcoming, _yearning_. He gave her back just as good as he got.

A throat was cleared.

Marinette and Cat pulled back from each other with a start. Carapace stood awkwardly not far from them.

"Uh," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just thought I'd let you know I'm, uh, still here."

Heat crawled over her cheeks. She quickly slid back to her feet, brushing stray locks of hair from her face. "Sorry. Um, this is my husband."

"I gathered that."

Cat stared at Carapace intently, taking in his armour and shield. "You helped her get away from Mayura?"

"I'd say she mostly helped herself, but yeah. I helped."

"Then you have my deepest gratitude." Cat bowed low.

"Woah there." Carapace held his hands palm-up. "No need to act so formal. Just doesn't feel right."

Cat frowned. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise that would be offensive to you."

"No, no, it's not offensive. I'm just saying you can relax, you know?"

"Oh. Right."

They stared at each other. Cat scratched his cheek and glanced off to the side, his cheeks a bit pink. No doubt he was embarrassed that he had misinterpreted the situation.

"I think I see what you mean now," Carapace murmured to her. "He's nothing like what the rumours say."

She smiled. "Told you."

Carapace returned the smile in his warm, easy way. Then he glanced off in the direction from which they had come, his brow creasing.

"You can go to her, you know," Marinette said softly. "Cat can take me the rest of the way."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded.

He slung his shield onto his back and grinned. "Well, if you're certain."

oOo

They said their goodbyes to Carapace and were soon left standing alone together in the field. She pressed closer to Cat, not just because her legs felt like trembling flower stalks ready to give out, but also because she wanted to be near him. Every brush of contact was a reminder that this wasn't a dream. He was real. He was with her.

"I'm glad you came," she said, leaning her cheek against his shoulder. "I missed you."

"I'm sorry I didn't reach you sooner."

She nuzzled into his robe. "The important thing is that you did."

Silence settled between them, comfortable and undemanding. Her eyes grew heavy, and she found herself leaning more and more against him.

"Come on." He scooped her up into his arms, his gaze warmer than the touches of sunlight that glowed around them. "Let's get you home."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and closed her eyes. That sounded perfect.

oOo

She woke in her own bed. The blinds were shut and a single candle flickered and created a dim glow. Cat sat beside her, gently stroking her hair. He smiled in greeting. The sight, so soft and affectionate, made her warm all the way to her toes.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Like I fought a goddess and ran across an entire kingdom."

His mouth twitched.

Her gaze drifted back to the candle. Wait. It had been morning when she'd last been awake. Had she slept through the whole day?

"Is your father not coming?"

He shook his head. "He knows what happened. He agreed to let you rest."

"Nice of him," she muttered.

She sat up, then winced and let out a low hiss as her back gave a painful twinge. His eyes widened. Suddenly, his hands were hovering near her, not quite touching.

"You're hurt? Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's nothing. Rena Rouge already bandaged the wounds for me."

"Let me see." His gaze ran over her body as if the wounds would appear from wherever they were hiding. "They should be cleaned and the bandages changed anyway."

"Oh, um …" Heat spread over cheeks.

"What?"

"They're on my back."

He tilted his head. "Wouldn't it be easier if I change them for you then?"

Yes. Yes, it definitely would.

She bit her lip, scolding herself for being so silly. It was just her back. It shouldn't make a difference if it was Rena Rouge or Cat tending to her. Besides, she probably looked tired and gross and—

"Okay," she said.

Heart pounding, she removed her jerkin and turned her back to him, tugging off her bloodied white undershirt to expose bare skin. He sucked in an audible breath. The three cuts left by the sentimonster's talons ran down her back from just under her right shoulder to her left hip. Rena Rouge had covered the cuts in thin strips of fabric.

"It probably looks worse than it is," she said quietly. "Your armour saved me."

Silence.

She squirmed, conscious of the fact that she was sitting shirtless in front of him, albeit with her back to him, and he seemed content to say and do nothing.

"Cat?"

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "This should have never happened to you."

"It's not your fault."

His touch was impossibly gentle as he ran his fingertip down the unmarred skin alongside one of the cuts. Her heart stuttered. Rena Rouge had never touched her like that.

She swallowed. "Um …"

"S-sorry. I was just—I don't know why I—"

"It's okay."

Even if her heart did thump and thump. Even if she did find it hard to slow her breathing. It was like she was an instrument and his touch had made her come alive in a song of flutters and pleasant tingles.

Cat shifted on the bed. "I'll just, um … I'll just get the water and bandages ready."

"Okay."

She sat there facing the wall, her pulse racing. No, this was definitely not like when Rena Rouge had helped her.


	28. Remnant of Creation

Marinette let out a small hiss.

"Sorry," Cat said, pulling the damp cloth away from one of the cuts on her back. "Did I—"

"It's fine."

Even if it did sting, the wounds had to be cleaned before new bandages could be put on. They both knew this. That was why she sat with her back to him, hair pulled forward, and conscious of the air shivering against her bare skin. It was like losing a protective shell. Not that he'd done anything to make her feel uncomfortable. He kept a respectful distance behind her and had been so gentle when he'd removed the bandages.

Water sloshed as he rinsed the cloth in the bowl beside him. The silky trickling was soothing to her ears, and her shoulders soon lowered into a more relaxed posture. He dabbed at her wounds with the cloth, careful not to press too hard.

"Cat?" she said softly.

"Mm?"

"What do you think Mayura will do now?"

He paused. "I don't know. Father sent one of his champions to speak with her after I told him what happened, but …"

"What?"

"I don't think he's expecting her to back down. I don't think he even wants her to. The talk is probably a token gesture at best. She tried to ruin his plans. He won't tolerate that."

And Mayura wouldn't tolerate letting him succeed either. Her own sister was the one trapped in the tree, yet she was still determined to stop him from freeing Carmine if that meant he couldn't have any hope in reviving Emilie.

Marinette brought her knees up to her chest, wincing as the motion tugged on her cuts. "I guess I knew that would be the case," she murmured.

He touched her shoulder—tentative at first, as if afraid to let his palm rest against her bare skin, but then pressed down more reassuringly. "I won't let her get close to you again. We'll be prepared for her this time."

She closed her eyes. "I know."

But then Mayura wasn't the only one she had to worry about.

oOo

It was much later, when she and Cat were snuggling in bed and everything was hushed and sleepy, that she dared to broach the topic that had been troubling her. He had not said much about his father's role in this mess. They could not keep tiptoeing around the subject. She needed to know where he stood.

"Can I ask you something," she said, tracing the collar of his robe with her fingertip.

"Of course."

"What do you think … about your father's plan?"

"You mean the one where he forces you to help him revive my mother?"

She nodded, biting her lip.

He sighed and rolled onto his back. "I don't know. Mother died when I was seven, but I still remember how kind she was. How warm. I loved her, and I never doubted that she loved me …"

She touched his arm, understanding through his unspoken words that he could not say the same for his father.

"I've missed her every day that she's been gone," he said softly, "but bringing her back from the dead, especially like this?" He shook his head. "It's not right."

"Then you won't be upset if I don't help him?"

He rolled back to face her. "I've never expected or wanted that from you. You must know that."

She lowered her gaze. "I didn't want to presume."

After all, he wore Emilie's ring on a chain around his neck. He had spoken of her with such love—never mind the lonely, confined life that he had led after her death. It would not have been surprising had he wanted to bring her back.

"A part of me will always be sad that she's gone, but I … I think the dead should stay dead." His hands found her cheeks, guiding her into meeting his eyes. "And I could never risk your life to bring hers back."

It was like a weight eased off her shoulders. She nestled closer, content to lie there with her arms around him. No matter what happened now, at least she knew that he would be on her side.

oOo

The tree welcomed her with its pulsing beat. Her back still ached—an odd thing since this was a dream—but at least she did not have to pass through the dark passage. She stood in the inner chamber. The cocoon sat on its dais, glowing and throbbing like a giant heart. It was creepy. Marinette resisted the urge to rub her arms to chase away the prickles that crept down her skin.

"Carmine!"

The goddess emerged just like before, smoky trails hardening into translucent stained glass. "Now that is a name I have not heard in a long time," she said with her slit-like smile.

"I know why you're stuck in here."

Her glassy eyes were hard to read. "Oh?"

"Hawkmoth is trying to do the same. He wants to bring the dead back to life."

"Yes, I figured as much."

Marinette gritted her teeth. "And you didn't think that an important thing to mention last time?"

"Not really, no. I have no intention of helping him, so what difference does it make?" She moved closer. "If you want my advice, just keep healing the tree. Let the fool think he is winning. I will take care of him once I'm free."

It was something Carmine had said before: to let her deal with Hawkmoth, to not worry. She even sounded sincere about wanting to get rid of him, but something still felt off. It was in the fine hairs that stirred on the back of Marinette's neck, the lump of unease that got stuck in her throat. Never mind that this was the goddess who had brought Mayura back to life.

"I don't trust you," Marinette said simply.

"Child, we are both remnants of creation."

"You keep saying that as if I should know what it means."

Carmine laughed, all honey and silk. "It's right there in the words. I am the goddess of creation, but in a way so are you."

"What?" Marinette's heart thudded, her eyes wide. "B-but that's just … I'm just …"

"It is an odd thing considering you are human, but then when I was imprisoned and the magic shattered, I guess this is how it chose to find balance: one a goddess, one a human, but both remnants of creation."

Marinette stared down at her trembling hands. Was that why she had picked up the castle's magic so quickly? Why she could create life that did not wither and die when no one else could?

"Keep healing the tree," Carmine urged. "That is your role. Your destiny."

"But—"

"You will understand everything then."

"Wait, no—"

But Carmine had faded back into smoke, and Marinette was left alone with the pulsing cocoon.


	29. A God’s Gift

Night had come. Marinette was ushered towards the inner courtyard, Hawkmoth and Cat walling her in like guards as if to close off retreat. It made her feel like a criminal. No, a sacrifice. There was a ritualistic edge to the scene: the cloak of darkness, the single torch for light, the old, twisted tree that waited for her and might as well have been a pyre.

But she did not have to burn for this tree. She just had to heal it.

Her feet slowed to a halt.

"What?" Hawkmoth said. "Why have you stopped?"

Words crawled to the tip of her tongue—that she wasn't sure if she wanted to do this anymore. That she was tired of being used, of being manipulated, of being pushed here and there like a pawn.

_"That is your role. Your destiny."_

She gritted her teeth and glared at the tree that stood twisted and clawing for the sky like a creature frozen mid-rage.

Hawkmoth made an exasperated sound. He grabbed her arm in a bruising grip, dragging her to the tree. Cat, of course, could do nothing but watch with tormented eyes.

"Heal it," Hawkmoth hissed.

Her heart thumped and thumped.

"You have had more than enough rest. Now it is time for you to do your duty."

"I …"

"Heal it now!"

She flinched, and hated herself for it. The cane he carried was too close. His whole presence was too close—cold and forbidding, like a fortress of ice looming over her.

"I will not ask you again, mortal."

She balled her hands into fists. The threat in those words was clear. He wanted Emilie back. He did not care what he had to do to make that happen. He had never cared.

_"Just keep healing the tree. Let the fool think he is winning. I will take care of him once I'm free."_

Her heart thumped faster. She glanced over her shoulder at Cat, the god she loved. The god who was trapped like a puppet under his father's control because his true name had been manipulated out of him.

He'd only been a child. He'd thought his father was going to help him.

Jaw clenching with resolve, she pressed her hands to the trunk and let the magic fill her in crackling sparks. The tree responded like a creature sensing a feed. Its pulsing beat thrummed through her bones, her soul, as if she was standing in the chamber with the awful cocoon that she saw in her dreams every night.

 _Yes_ , the beat seemed to say. _Give me life. Make me stronger._

She ignored the chills that crept down her spine, ignored the way her skin crawled as the tree seemed to claw for her just as much as its branches clawed for leaves. This was supposedly her destiny. This might be the only way to free Cat.

Her eyes narrowed and she let the magic spill out of her palms in waves of healing light—let it fill the roots with nourishment, spreading up and up to the tips of its branches. The power of creation thrummed. The tree's pulsing beat grew louder, drowning out her own heartbeat. Drowning out everything.

No, _consuming_.

She wrenched her hands back, trembling. The flow of magic was cut off, but the tree continued to claw at her with invisible hands, demanding she come back. Her stomach churned, and her legs wobbled and gave out. There was no colour left in her cheeks.

"I can't," she whispered.

"What was that?" Hawkmoth demanded.

She shook her head, fighting the urge to vomit. "That's all I can do tonight," she lied.

He sighed. "Very well. Take her away, son."

Cat scooped her up into his arms without a word. Even as she was carried away, however, she could still feel the tree clawing for her.

oOo

"What happened back there?" Cat asked as he carried her up the stairs to her bedroom. "You stopped earlier than usual."

She pressed her face closer to his chest, trying to anchor herself to the beating of his heart. Maybe it would stop the tree's awful, pulsing echo from humming through her. "I realised what it means to be a remnant of creation."

"What do you mean?"

"Carmine said it was my destiny to heal the tree, but it's not just my healing magic that it wants. It's me."

His grip tightened. "What?"

"I don't know how to explain it. I just … I _felt_ it, Cat. That tree wants me. It'll suck me in just like it does the creation magic."

And then Creation would be whole. Her purpose as a remnant would be over.

He froze on the steps, his heartbeat skittering against her cheek.

"Cat?"

"No." He held her closer to him, like his arms could become a shield to shut out anything that would hurt her. "I won't let it. I won't let that tree take you from me."

"It's your father who wants the tree to be healed." She touched his cheek, even as she swallowed against the growing lump in her throat. "He won't let you interfere. You know that."

Cat cursed in frustration.

"Don't worry." Her eyes stung in hot prickles. "I'm not giving up. I … there has to be a way. Even if I am a remnant of creation, I'm still me. That has to mean something, right?"

"Right," he said thickly.

She forced a smile and then hid her face against his chest. That was when she let the tears fall.

oOo

He stayed with her again that night. His arm was warm around her as they lay together in bed, huddled close. It was a simple thing, but her cuts were healing—helped by magic—and that meant he didn't have to be so tentative. She appreciated that now. Being close to him was all she wanted.

"Marinette," he said softly.

"Yes?"

"I …"

"What?"

His hand found hers, interlacing their fingers. "Do you know what the greatest gift a god can give is?"

She frowned at the unexpected subject. "No …"

"Their true name."

Her heart quickened. "Why are you telling me this?" she whispered.

"Because I want you to understand. Sharing your true name with someone is meant to be an act of trust. An act of love."

She swallowed.

"Marinette." He raised her hand to his lips. "I want to tell you my name."

"Cat, no. That's—"

"My gift to give, and I want to give it to you."

"But that's your true name. If you tell it to me, that's just another person who can control you. I mean look what has happened with your father. You can't do this."

"I trust you." He squeezed her hand. "I trust you, and I want to do this. There's no saying what's going to happen—"

"That's no reason to tell me your name!"

"No, you're right, and if it was only out of fear for the future then I wouldn't. But sometimes fear makes us realise things. Things we feel. Things we need to express."

Her heart pounded so fast that her entire body throbbed with the beat. "Cat …"

His other hand moved to cup her cheek. It was a gesture he had done plenty of times before, but that didn't matter. Her pulse still tripped over itself like a clumsy dancer.

"Marinette, when I shared my name with my father, I was a scared child. I thought it was my only option." He held her gaze and brushed his thumb against her cheek. "But with you it's different. I'm not a child, and I want you to know me. All of me."

Butterflies stirred in her stomach. "Are you sure?"

He kissed her for answer—on her lips, her cheek, then a trail to her ear.

"Adrien," he whispered. "That's my name."

Magic pulsed through her in a shock of warmth and raw truth. It was so intimate, so vulnerable, that tears spilled from her eyes. She _knew_.

Hand still entwined with his, she shifted on top of him and pressed her lips to his. She kissed him again and again—wild, breathless kisses that had them drawing closer, closer, closer.

"I love you," he breathed.

She kissed him harder before she pulled back, looking down into his eyes. "I love you too … Adrien."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I finally managed to fulfil the kiss prompt. It only took me … 29 chapters. heh
> 
> But yeah, this last scene was the thing I saw in my head when I first got the idea for the prompt, so you can understand why I was like 'well, dang, this seems like a waste to not expand on.'


	30. Here's Your Fate

The tree claimed her dreams. She stood in the chamber, unable to escape from the pulsing beat. It tattooed itself to her bones, to her soul. On the dais in the middle, the cocoon throbbed like some glutted thing—a monster that glowed with life, waiting to be set free.

She gritted her teeth. "No."

Carmine emerged in trails of smoke, but this time when she took shape, she wasn't so transparent. The glassy quality of her body was gone. She looked more human. More natural. It was easy to see that her hair was black and her eyes blue, though she still shone with the pinkish-red hues of sunrise.

"Figured it out, did you?" Carmine said calmly.

Marinette clenched her hands so tightly that crescent wounds dug into her palms. "You tried to trick me."

"I did no such thing."

"You told me to keep healing the tree! You knew I—"

"I told you it was your destiny." She stepped closer, thrumming with power. "And I only spoke the truth."

"I refuse to accept that."

Carmine raised one thin eyebrow. "You are a human. I am a goddess. Out of the two of us, who do you think deserves to be the true wielder of creation?"

Marinette's teeth grinded against each other.

"Face it," Carmine said in that voice of honey and silk, though now it felt like gouging razors. "You were born to free me. You exist to serve me. That is the fate written in your stars."

"Then I reject that fate."

A spine-shivering laugh. "Oh? And how do you plan to stop it?

"I won't heal the tree anymore."

She'd fight Hawkmoth if she had to. Fight his champions. It was what she had trained to do anyway, and—

"Oh, child." Carmine reached out and cupped her cheek, her touch surprisingly warm. "Don't you see it's too late?"

Marinette's heart lurched for her throat. "What?"

"The process has already begun." Her lips curved, no longer a glassy slit but sweet and natural. "Soon, I will awaken, and then I will take what I need from you whether you like it or not."

Marinette wrenched her face back and put more space between them. "Just try it!"

Carmine laughed. "Such boldness, but all the boldness in the world cannot change what was and what will be." She began to fade into smoke. "You'll see, child. You cannot escape your fate. No one can."

oOo

The process had indeed begun. There were buds on the tree's branches, small and green like pebbles of jade. Life had taken root. Leaves would soon unfurl in a heralding shroud. No more healing magic was required—only the final piece.

"I won't let you have me," Marinette hissed.

Human or not, she was more than just a remnant of shattered magic. She was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She was a woman in her own right. A princess who had sacrificed herself to save her kingdom. She had come to love Adrien, had fought a goddess to be reunited with him, and she refused to believe that all of those choices, all of those experiences, amounted to nothing.

She refused to believe that her life was destined to end like this.

Her eyes narrowed and she forged a two-handed axe out of magic, gripping it tight. Life had taken root in this tree, but that didn't mean she couldn't destroy it.

She marched forward and took a vicious swing at the trunk.

_Thunk!_

It was like hitting a stone wall. The haft juddered. Her arms juddered. Then the axe blade shattered like a web splintering, and the whole weapon was wrenched out of her hand by an invisible force, sending her flying along with it. Her back hit the ground. She groaned, rolling onto her knees, and stared up at the tree. Her eyes widened and her heart battered itself against her ribs.

There wasn't any damage. Not even a little chip.

"No way," she breathed.

She could almost hear Carmine's laughter, silky sweet yet gouging. It seemed that the tree could not be felled so easily, nor her so-called destiny stopped.

"Marinette?"

Adrien rushed over, helping her to her feet.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "What were you—"

"It's the tree." She pointed to the clawing thing and all its budding leaves. "It's healed."

His face went chalky white. "Then it's really happening."

She gripped his hand, both for comfort and to offer it. No plans. No time. It all seemed so hopeless.

"You could still run," he said softly.

"No."

That was the one thing she wouldn't do. Running had never achieved anything. Hawkmoth, Carmine, or even Mayura would catch up with her eventually. Besides, she didn't want to leave Adrien.

She looked up at him. "I can't back down from this. I won't."

"My father still controls me," he warned. "He could make me … I mean we might have to …"

_Fight._

It was an unspoken possibility. A part of her had even realised that was why he had given her his armour and weapon in the first place. He'd not been training her to fight his father. He'd been training her to fight _him_. Neither of them had just wanted to admit it.

She cupped his face, looking into his summer-green eyes. "Adrien, I …"

Then she froze, her eyes widening.

"What?" he said.

Her hands slid to his shoulders, gripping tight. "Your name! I know your name!"

"Yes, I know."

"What if I can counter your father's orders?"

His brow creased. "What do you mean?"

"I just thought of it then. If he knows your name and I know your name, maybe the magic will cancel each other out."

"And then I can act how I want," he said, catching on.

She nodded.

He bit his lip. "It sounds logical, but I've never heard of anyone being able to break a true name binding."

"But that's the thing." Her lips curved with a hint of her old mischief. "I'm not trying to break anything. I'm just going to give orders that go against what your father wants." She squeezed his shoulders. "Only if you'll let me, of course."

"Of course. I trust you. I already said that."

"Then you're willing to try?"

He nodded and pulled her closer, pressing his forehead to hers. "I want to fight at your side, Marinette. I want to be there for you. I'm more than willing to try your plan if it means I can do that."

She smiled and relaxed into the hug. "Thank you."


	31. Dark Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to Maryssa (chatnoirinette) for helping me with some of this chapter!

"Are you sure?" Adrien asked. "We don't know what will happen if this works."

Marinette frowned at the tree. Leaves had started to unfurl, hiding the clawing branches under a cloak of green. It would be beautiful in the end—full and brimming with life. But she still felt its pulsing beat in her bones. Still remembered the threat.

_"Soon, I will awaken, and then I will take what I need from you whether you like it or not."_

"We have to try," she said. "Carmine is connected to this tree somehow. If we destroy it, maybe we can stop her before she awakens. Maybe we can stop all of this."

He nodded. "Okay. I trust—"

"Stop!"

They both flinched. A swarm of butterflies, gleaming like obsidian, had gathered in the courtyard to shape themselves into Hawkmoth's face. Somehow, his voice was being projected from the fluttering swarm.

"Father," Adrien said in alarm. "You were listening?"

"Did you really think I would leave the tree unsupervised when it was so close to being completed?" Hawkmoth arched his eyebrow, his voice like a smooth sheet of ice. "And see what I discover: my own son plotting to betray me."

Adrien's shoulders hunched. "You didn't give me a choice. I had to do something."

"Oh, I know. I don't even blame you for trying to go behind my back. We are similar in that regard—both determined to save the women we love." He shook his head. "But that's why you need to stop this. If you destroy the tree, you will lose her."

All the colour drained from Adrien's cheeks. "What?"

"Don't listen to him." Marinette glared at the fluttering mass. "Of course he would say that. He doesn't want us to ruin his plans."

"I only speak the truth."

She raised her chin. "Like I'm going to believe anything you say."

"You should."

She grabbed Adrien's arm. "Come on. We should act now. I bet he's just worried I'll actually be able to cancel his orders with my own, so he's trying to distract us to give himself time to get here."

"R-right."

"Son." Hawkmoth's hollow eyes fixed on Adrien. "I have been hard on you, I know. Some would say too hard. But everything I have done has been to save your mother. Trust me that I would not wish you to suffer the same pain that I have, not when there is no need."

Adrien stiffened, his shoulders hunching even more.

"Do not destroy the tree. I can help you to protect your wife from Carmine if that is what you're worried about—there is no reason for us to work against each other—but I swear that you will regret it if you go ahead with this plan."

Marinette tightened her grip on Adrien's arm. "He's lying. He's just trying to scare you into obeying him."

Adrien audibly swallowed. "What if he isn't? You're a remnant of creation. You dream about the tree every night."

"That doesn't mean I'll be hurt if it's destroyed."

"She doesn't know what she's saying, son. I have spent years gathering information about the remnants of creation. Believe me, you must not destroy the tree if you wish to keep her safe."

Adrien bit his lip, glancing between the two of them.

"Listen," she said, reaching up to clasp his face. "Your father is trying to manipulate you. Nothing bad is going to happen. This is our chance."

"Don't be foolish, son. You know I would not lie to you about this."

She met his green eyes, her own earnest and imploring. "We have to destroy the tree, and we have to do it now."

"The mortal is going to die. Is that what you want? To be alone again?"

Adrien pulled back. "I …"

"If you listen to her, you will kill the woman you love!" Hawkmoth said ruthlessly. "Is that what you really want?"

Adrien squeezed his eyes shut and placed his hands over his ears. "Stop! Stop!"

She reached for him, softening her voice as if approaching a frightened kitten. "Hey, it's okay. It's going to be okay. Just—"

He shook his head and took another step back. One of the butterflies fluttered towards him, so small and delicate. It sank into his robe like an oozing shadow and the wing-edged outline of a mask formed over his face. He cried out, clutching his head.

"What's happening?" she demanded. "What's that butterfly doing to him?"

"What is necessary," Hawkmoth said calmly.

Adrien collapsed to his knees, clawing at his hair and temples. His expression twisted and he muttered under his breath in a feverish string of _no, no, no_ and _I can't, I can't._

Her pulse throbbed in her neck. She rounded on Hawkmoth, her chest tight like a cage trapping her breath in her lungs. "Stop it! Leave him alone!"

"I have to ensure that he will use his power as I wish."

"It's not enough to control your son with his true name, but now you do this?"

"It would not be the first time."

Her heart hammered against her ribs. "What?"

"The council was never going to let me have access to this castle, not with the Protector in charge. I simply chose to do what was necessary."

A cold lump settled in her stomach, twisting it into knots. "It was you. You made your son kill the Protector."

She'd had suspicions that he'd played a part somehow, but this was so much worse. Hawkmoth had really taken control of his son and forced him to kill. No consideration for the trauma it would cause. Not even a hint of remorse.

The hollowed eyes shaped by butterflies stared at her with no emotion. "Like I said, I did what was necessary. As I will do now."

"He's your son! Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"Getting Emilie back is the only thing that matters!"

It was like a slap to the face. Hawkmoth really didn't care what happened to Adrien. He had never cared.

She gritted her teeth, her nails digging into her palms. "Let him go."

"I think not. You plan to destroy everything that I have worked for. I cannot allow that."

"I won't let you do this to him!"

"And I'm afraid you don't have a choice."

Her eyes flashed. "We'll see about that!" She raised her chin, putting all her willpower into the words. "Adrien, I order you to help me stop your father! You will support me!"

It felt wrong to give him orders. She wanted to cringe, wanted to call the words back and swallow them down where they couldn't be heard. But Hawkmoth had pushed her to this point. If this was the only way to break his control, then she would do what she must.

Except nothing happened. If anything, the wing-edged mask over Adrien's face gleamed brighter.

Hawkmoth laughed softly. "Oh, did I forget to mention? Your little plan to countermand my commands was clever, I'll give you that, but I don't like to take chances. Even if you could somehow make it work, you'll have a hard time getting through to him now."

"What do you mean?"

"You see, though I am not the god of emotion, I am drawn to emotions when they're strong enough—it's what helps me choose my champions. Right now, my son's fear of losing you far outweighs anything else." His lips curved. "It's very easy to take that fear and twist it to my will."

"You're a monster," she whispered.

"Think what you will, but all of your tricks and plans are worth nothing now. My control over my son is absolute."

She gritted her teeth so hard it felt like they would snap. "I will stop you."

"You can try." His smile widened. "But you'll have to get through him first."

The butterflies dispersed. Purple rippled over Adrien, turning his hair to the colour of fresh snow. His ears, robe, and tail also became white. Even his eyes iced over like a frost snatching all warmth. No more summer green. No more affection. As he stood up and faced her, his expression was as hard and soulless as a golem's.

She swallowed, taking an instinctive step back. Every hair on her arms and the back of her neck prickled. "Cat?" she whispered. Not Adrien. She couldn't say his name when he looked like that. "Are … are you okay?"

"Cat?" he repeated, tilting his head. His voice was like the caress of silk on a knife's point. "No, Marinette. I am Blanc."


	32. Come Back

"Blanc," Marinette repeated.

He spread his arms. "Suits me more, don't you think?"

She swallowed against the lump choking her throat. This was wrong. Everything about him was wrong. The harsh white, the eyes that were like deadened lumps of ice. It was like winter had come and taken all of his warmth—all that made him Adrien—and smothered it under a prison of snow.

"What did your father do to you?" she whispered.

He smiled. It made the hairs on the back of her neck shiver. "I'm fine, Marinette. And you're going to be fine, too." He held out his hand for her to take. "Don't worry. I'm here to protect you."

She took another step back, her heart fluttering like a bird trying to stay aloft in a storm.

"What's wrong?" he asked, tilting his head. "You don't have to be afraid."

She shook her head. "You're not yourself."

"Now that's just rude." He stepped closer, his tail slipping out from his robe and swishing back and forth. "Am I not your husband?"

Her heart thumped and thumped. "Don't."

"Don't?" His brow creased and he reached for her with his clawed fingers. "I'm just trying to keep you safe. Is that such a terrible thing?"

"Don't make me fight you."

He paused.

"Please," she said, holding his gaze—searching for any trace of him inside the shell of snow and ice.

His hand was a hairsbreadth from cupping her face, but now his fingers curled into his palm. "No, Marinette," he said softly. "I should be saying that to you. I just want to keep you safe. I'm trying to protect you." His eyes narrowed. "But if you're not going to cooperate, I'll do what I must."

She reached for the staff attached to her hip. "If you really want to keep me safe, you'd destroy the tree. You'd help me stop Carmine and your father now."

"It's too dangerous to destroy the tree, and Father has promised that you won't be harmed if I help him."

"You know that's a lie. He's just using you. He doesn't care what happens to either of us!"

"I won't risk you dying!"

Her fingers tightened around the staff.

His gaze flickered to her hand, then back to her face. "You're really going to fight me?"

"If that's what it takes to undo whatever he's done to you."

Ice hardened his expression. "Then you give me no choice."

He lunged. Heart jumping for her throat, she thrust the staff out in a rush of extending metal. The tip caught him hard in the chest and a grunt escaped him as he was knocked back, heels skidding against the ground.

"I see you haven't forgotten your training," he said.

Her gut twisted, heavy and churning like an ocean. It hurt to be reminded of those lessons—every conversation, every promise, every kiss.

They were supposed to have faced this day together. He was supposed to have fought at her side.

He charged for her again, white hair streaking out behind him like flurries of snow. Instinct took over as she dodged, parried, and pushed back with the staff. _His_ staff. It was a clumsy dance, desperate and more a scrabble for breathing space on her part. He was too good. Sweat gathered on her brow. The thundering beat of adrenaline pulsed in her ears and throbbed through her veins.

This couldn't go on. She needed to figure out a way to stop him. To _save_ him.

He caught the staff with both hands, and she found herself chest to chest with him. Her heartbeat stuttered. Meeting his gaze was like staring into a frozen wasteland—no warmth, no sign of the god she loved.

 _Where are you?_ she wanted to scream. _Please tell me that you're still in there!_

"It's over," he said with no emotion.

Hot tears stung her eyes. The lump in her throat got tighter—more choking. There was no point in running. He would catch her. There was no point in trying to wrench the staff free. He was stronger. But she couldn't give up. Even if it was hopeless. Even if he had become a stranger sheathed in winter.

She had promised to free him from his father's control. She never broke her promises.

Tears blurring her vision, and still holding the staff with him between them, she surged up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the lips. It was a final, desperate attempt. The stories had often spoken of how true love's kiss could break any enchantment. Maybe it could break his, too. Maybe he would come back to her.

It was like kissing ice. Unresponsive. Unyielding.

The ocean roiling in her gut heaved. She kissed him harder, tears spilling down her cheeks. _Come back_. One hand let go of the staff and moved to his neck. _Please, please come back …_

He pulled away, his brow creasing. "What are you doing?"

Blue. His eyes were still frozen blue.

Something shattered in her heart, little bits of despair catching on her ribs with every _thump, thump, thump_. She let go of the staff and slumped to her knees.

How? How was she supposed to fix this?

"Ah," Hawkmoth said as he entered the courtyard. "I see you have subdued her. Good work, son. Now we can keep her safe."

Blanc placed his hand on her shoulder. It was a gesture Adrien had done a hundred times before, and it had fresh tears welling in her eyes. "And what of Carmine?" he asked. "What happens when she wakes?"

"Don't worry. I have a plan for that." Hawkmoth smiled and glanced at the tree, which had grown a lush, green crown. "All we have to do now is wait."


	33. Awakening

The tree glowed in a halo of red as if its leaves had been dipped in sunset. It was beautiful. It was unsettling. Magic shivered in the air and sent prickles up and down Marinette's spine. Her heart skittered in a little flip, and she found herself pressing back into Blanc, who stood behind her with his hand on her shoulder.

"At last," Hawkmoth breathed. "It begins."

The light flared brighter, pulsing just like the cocoon she had seen in her dreams every night. Then came the beat: a steady _thump, thump_ that echoed through her body, working itself deeper and deeper. It felt as if her bones would shatter from the sound. It felt as if every part of her would be consumed.

She squirmed, her fingers curling into her palms and missing the reassuring touch of metal. Blanc had taken the staff back. Hawkmoth hadn't liked the idea of her having a weapon, not if it meant she could interfere with his plans or put herself in danger. (It was the latter that had convinced Blanc.)

Blanc gave a sudden twitch, his fingers digging into her shoulder. Wind ruffled her hair and robe, and the blood-red leaves rustled.

"From behind," he muttered.

He pulled her against his chest, forcing her to turn with him. That was when she saw it: a stream of purple surging towards them from the sky. Her heart lurched like a ship tossed by waves. She knew that light. It had torn apart trees with careless ease and left a gaping wound in the forest.

Blanc thrust out his hand and an icy-blue sphere formed, getting bigger and bigger. The crackle of destructive magic raised every hair on her arms. Then he threw the sphere up at the purple stream, which was engulfed like a flame snuffed out by a single breath. Just _poof!_ Gone. Her eyes widened at the sheer power, even as the sphere continued to surge up into the sky—straight to where Mayura stood on the back of a sentimonster. Her body-hugging dress had been exchanged for blue armour, still elegant but clearly designed for battle.

Mayura jumped into freefall, wings spreading out in a burst of purple-black feathers. The sentimonster, however, was not fast enough. The sphere made contact and then it was just complete obliteration. Nothing remained of the bird. Not a single trace.

Marinette's heart hammered against her ribs. So, this was the true power of destruction.

"Papillon!" Mayura shouted, landing on the wall and unsheathing a bladed fan. "You think I'll be stopped that easily?"

Hawkmoth barely glanced at her. "Get rid of her," he said. "She'll try to destroy your wife and the tree."

Blanc let go of Marinette and stepped forward, his expression a mask of ice.

Mayura's eyes narrowed. "I did not come here to be brushed off like some worthless mortal!" She plucked a feather from the fan, streaks of bruised blues and black crackling from her fingertips like lightning-flecked shadow. "If you want to hide behind your pawn, then fine. Two can play at that game!"

She threw the feather into the air and swiftly traced an outline with her finger. A humanoid figure took shape: tall, pointed ears, long hair. Marinette's heart stuttered. That was—

"Kill her!" Hawkmoth ordered. "Kill her now!"

Mayura laughed and swooped into the air, dodging the icy spheres that were thrown at her. No, guiding Blanc's attacks away from her creation. Her fingers formed a claw-like motion as she poured magic into the sentimonster, letting him solidify and take colour. He opened his eyes—blue like a frozen wasteland—and his tail swished behind him.

Blanc. It was another Blanc.

"I wonder which will be stronger?" Mayura said with a twisted smile, though her breathing was a little ragged. "My pawn or yours?"

The sentimonster clashed with Blanc: claws against claws, destruction against destruction. It was a brutal collision of power, yet there was something terrifyingly beautiful about the way they mirrored each other, like a dance of snow storms.

"How?" Marinette murmured. "How is this even possible?"

She had not known that Mayura was capable of such magic. The last two sentimonsters seemed inelegant and weak in comparison—just clunky beasts dredged up from imagination. Then again, Mayura was not moving as swiftly now. She landed in an ungraceful stagger, her wings vanishing.

"You overextended your magic," Hawkmoth observed. "Fool. There's no way you can beat me."

Mayura unfurled a second fan, showing off the curved, silver blade that matched its twin. "I don't need magic to beat you."

A chunk of the courtyard was ripped apart by a stray blue sphere, scattering jagged shards all around. Marinette flinched and shielded her face with her arms. The castle quivered as the sentimonster and Blanc clashed again. All the while, the tree flared brighter and brighter.

Two gods of destruction fighting was not good, even if one was a fake. They were all going to be destroyed at this rate.

Hawkmoth spared the tree a worried glance before he unsheathed a sword from his cane. "I don't have time for this."

"Oh, but you do." Mayura's expression hardened like frosted steel. "I'm not giving you a choice."

She charged, twin fans gleaming with wicked sharpness in the pulsing, bloody light. Hawkmoth shoved Marinette behind him.

"Stay back," he ordered.

Then he rushed to meet Mayura, his sword clanging against her fans in a vicious song of metal against metal.

Marinette's heart thudded against her ribs. No one was minding her. She could escape right now if she wanted, but that was the thing: she didn't want to run. There was no point. Adrien was still trapped under his father's control, and Carmine wouldn't let her get far even if she tried. It was a promise in every thumping beat that reverberated from the tree.

_"Soon, I will awaken, and then I will take what I need from you whether you like it or not."_

Marinette gritted her teeth. "Blanc!"

Both the sentimonster and Blanc stared at her from where they were fighting on the other side of the courtyard.

"Give me the staff!"

One of the Blancs ducked a punch, then kicked the other hard in the chest. He fell back into the wall, leaving a web of cracks from the impact.

"You wanted to keep me safe, right?" she yelled. "Then give me the staff. Carmine is—"

The red light turned blinding. Marinette's breath caught in her throat, even as the drumming beat slammed into her like a fist. It shook the ground, shook the very foundations of her soul, threatening to overwhelm everything. She clamped her hands over her ears and stumbled to her knees. Ahead of her, the tree pulsed like some giant, twisted heart. It looked as if the leaves were dripping blood.

A woman stepped out from the trunk, the bark clinging to her like a sticky cobweb. No, it was being absorbed into her. Every branch and leaf that was sucked into her body gave her more solid form until only she was left standing in the tree's place, the blood-red light dimming to nothing.

Now it made sense. The tree had never been a prison. It was Carmine who had been the tree.

Carmine met Marinette's gaze and a honey-sweet smile curved her lips. "Found you."


	34. Whose Side Are You On?

Marinette tried to scramble to her feet, but it was as if Carmine's presence was a giant weight keeping her crushed to the ground. She couldn't move. Panic clawed at her chest and squeezed her lungs. Even with the tree gone, the steady _thump, thump_ continued to pulse through her body, reverberating through her bones.

Carmine's smile widened. "I have waited a long time for this." She approached like a stiff wind-up toy, her movements a bit slow at first but quickly getting smoother. "Time to fulfil your destiny, child."

Marinette squeezed her eyes shut. "Cat!"

It was a desperate plea. He still wanted to protect her. He still had to be in there somewhere.

There was a _thunk_ of boots hitting the ground close to her and then arms scooped her up, holding her against a firm chest. She opened her eyes and met frozen blue. For once, the colour didn't bother her.

"Go ahead!" Blanc hissed at Carmine, adjusting his grip on Marinette so he could free up one hand. A blue sphere swelled from his palm, crackling with destructive magic. "Try and touch her!"

Carmine paused and tilted her head. "You're the god of destruction …" Creases formed on her brow. "No, something is off about you. I sense an akuma's taint."

An akuma? Was that the butterfly that had gone into his robe?

"Well, no matter," Carmine said, narrowing her eyes. "Anyone who gets in my way is my enemy."

Blanc fuelled more magic into the sphere.

"No, son!" Hawkmoth cried. "You mustn't hurt Carmine! She's linked to your wife now! They have to—"

Mayura swung viciously at Hawkmoth's face with her fans. "Enough of this. Sentimonster, just kill them both! Hurry!"

The sentimonster blasted away the rubble under which he had got trapped and aimed his own destructive sphere at Marinette and Blanc. Marinette's heart lurched. Blanc growled and swung around to face him. Then all she could see was dazzling white—twin lightning flashes of ice that collided with sickening force. The castle trembled. The ground shook and heaved up stones in fractured pieces. When the dust cleared, a blackened hole was left in the middle of the courtyard. Even Carmine had been forced to the side to avoid getting caught in the blast.

"What are you doing, sister?" Carmine snarled.

Mayura laughed. "Getting my revenge."

The sentimonster got a smaller sphere ready.

"Hold on," Blanc muttered.

Marinette did her best to hook her legs tight around him—the pulsing beat still threatened to crush her—and found herself staring over his shoulder at the fight between Mayura and Hawkmoth. Blanc leapt onto a partially shattered wall, jumping from stone to stone as he dodged the sentimonster's attacks. A trail of rubble rained behind them with every missed shot.

"Call that sentimonster off!" Carmine ordered. "You're going to mess up everything!"

"That's the point!" Mayura said with another laugh.

"I thought you were on my side!"

"Your side? Why?" Mayura blocked a low thrust from Hawkmoth's sword. "Maybe once I was a fool enough to think you deserved my help, but that was before I realised how much you'd ruined me."

"I brought you back to life!"

"You broke me!" Another deflected blow. "Blue skin! Tainted feathers! Even my magic isn't the same! You ruined me and left me stuck in this half-life!" Suddenly, she trapped Hawkmoth's sword between her fans, twisting it in a fluid motion to wrench it out of his grip and fling it away. "And _you_ , Papillon, you dared to pretend you cared!"

Hawkmoth backed away as he held his hands up in an appeasing gesture. "Now, Mayura, let's not be hasty. I know I was not entirely honest with you in the past, but—"

"Silence!" She pointed the blade of her fan at him. "I didn't come here to listen to your lies!"

Marinette's eyes widened. "Your father, he's …"

_Going to die._

Carmine certainly wasn't going to help him. She stood off to the side, a little smile playing on her lips.

Marinette twisted to face the front, not wanting to watch what was likely to be an execution. Not that the new view was much better. Blanc charged for the sentimonster with ruthless focus, weaving around bolts of destruction until he jumped off the wall and slammed his hand into the sentimonster's chest. Icy light spilled out from his palm. So destructive. So beautiful. The sentimonster's cold eyes widened and then his body crumbled to dust. Only a black feather remained.

"Gone," she whispered.

But Hawkmoth was not. He knelt before Mayura and clutched his injured chest, his expression a mixture of shock and pure, searing rage. Her fans glinted with blood.

"Yes!" Mayura said in satisfaction. "That's the face I wanted to see. The face of a fool who thinks he's won, only to have it snatched from him."

Blanc set Marinette down and gathered his power, aiming it at Mayura. "Stop!"

Her gaze flickered to him. "Don't be stupid, boy. We both know you're not going to fire. You'll end up killing your father as well, and you can't afford to do that, can you? Not if you want to keep your precious wife safe."

He gritted his teeth.

Marinette swallowed and stuck close to him. The pulsing, crushing call still tugged at her, but Carmine had not moved from the far left. Maybe there was no need to worry about fighting her. Maybe Carmine just wasn't as powerful as they'd thought. No one else was affected by her, after all.

Mayura smiled and pressed the sharp edge of her fan to Hawkmoth's throat. "You know, Papillon, I hadn't planned on killing you today. I'd hoped to make you live and suffer more, but I guess this will do." Her smile widened, splintered with hate and years of bitterness. She raised the fan.

"No!" Blanc cried, rushing forward.

That was all it took.

A rope latched around Marinette's waist, dragging her off to the left like a ruthless hand. She gasped, winded. Everything throbbed and pulled and pulsed, or maybe that was just because Carmine gripped her arm. Being this close to her was like trying to resist a black hole.

"Thank you, sister," Carmine said in her honey-sweet voice. "You made this so much easier."

"Marinette!" Blanc yelled.

Carmine laughed and shoved her fist into Marinette's heart—or at least that was what it felt like. Pain and invasion. Blood-red light flared around the two of them, creating a shield that wouldn't let anyone in and also blocked out all view of the courtyard. The pulsing beat throbbed in Marinette's ears, her bones, tearing apart the stitching of her soul. She didn't know how to keep herself together. She didn't know how to make it stop.

"I told you," Carmine said softly. "There can only be one goddess of creation. Now accept your fate. Let yourself become a part of me."

_No!_

Marinette struggled against the invasive grip on her soul. It felt like drowning. It felt like she was being dragged down, down, down to the darkest depths of the ocean, and the weight of it all was going to crush her at any moment. But something in her refused to succumb. Even if it seemed futile. Even if everything had gone wrong. She still had promises to keep. Memories to make.

She hadn't given up on hope yet.

Power stirred within her, brewing like a storm. Not the castle's magic. This was something else. Something deeper. It forced its way through her veins, building and building until her entire body hummed with the rippling, warm energy.

"You can't have me!" she screamed.

Carmine was thrown back, slamming into the shield so hard that for a moment she could only groan on the ground. Marinette now held a weapon similar to Carmine's—a metal ball attached to the end of a rope. She spun it round and round with familiar ease. This was natural. This was right.

"You say there can only be one of us?" Marinette said. "Fine. I'll show you who deserves to be the true wielder of creation."


	35. Goddess of Creation

Marinette trusted in the instincts that whispered to her bones, her limbs. She looped the metal ball around her and let it soar for Carmine in a rush of red. With practiced ease, Carmine smashed it to the side with her own weapon. It hit the barrier with a high-pitched _clink_.

"So, you can call upon creation's weapon?" Carmine said, picking herself up the ground. Her lips curved into a blade-edged smile. "It makes no difference. You're still just a human. I'll crush you like the insect you are."

Carmine lashed out like a snake—lunging, vicious, all bared teeth and whipping darts. Marinette didn't have time to think. She ducked, rolled, moving with the whispers that guided her body. A quick step to the left. Duck. Then fling the metal ball, letting it spin and spin like a dizzying star before—

_Clang!_

The balls collided and bounced off each other. Marinette locked her hand around her weapon, already moving forward. Avoid the rope that threatened to capture and strangle like vines. Avoid the fist that came for her jaw. Carmine's blue eyes widened, and then Marinette kneed her in the gut—a mistake. Such a move should have done nothing to a goddess. Only a god's weapon allowed Marinette to match a god in strength, yet a guttural sound escaped Carmine and she hunched over, all the breath and balance knocked out of her.

"H-how?" Carmine choked out, all honeyed silk gone from her voice. Her eyes were wide yet there was no fear. It was like looking at sapphires encased in flame.

Marinette got over her surprise and raised the metal ball to strike, but Carmine swept out in a low kick, knocking her off her feet.

"I don't think so," Carmine hissed.

They clashed again and again—more violently, more desperately. So many times Marinette just missed the whipping slash of metal that would have entangled her in rope or cracked her skull open. Her heart skittered and thumped like a bird caught in a storm. She knew if the whispers stopped that she would be dead in a second. But they didn't stop. They only got clearer, oiling that rusted part of herself that had stirred with shy kisses and impromptu fighting lessons in a ballroom.

 _Jump_ , the whisper told her.

She did, jumping over the rope that came for her ankles.

_Trap it._

She slammed down with her heel on the rope, making Carmine lurch forward. A simple tug should have been enough to destabilise Marinette, but whatever inhuman strength had filled her body was still there. Carmine tugged and tugged and couldn't do a thing.

"Why?" Carmine screamed, her nostrils flaring and her eyes gleaming wildly. "I am a goddess! You are just a human! Why do you have more power than me?"

_Bind her._

Marinette didn't question it. She spun the ball out, letting it wrap around Carmine and pin her arms to her sides. Carmine toppled like a toy block flicked over by a finger. It was almost comical, but the searing anger in her eyes promised a thousand days of pain if she got free.

"You wanted this fight," Marinette said grimly, and it was as if another guided her lips and tongue to form the words, even as a higher-pitched voice layered her own. "The decision has been made."

"No!" Carmine scrambled to her knees. "It's my destiny! Mine! I am the goddess of creation!"

"You broke the cycle when you broke the balance. You are nothing but a remnant."

"I brought the dead back to life! I did what no one has dared!" Spittle flew from her mouth and her eyes bulged, but she didn't seem to care that she had lost all of her silky poise. "You can't supplant me with a human! You can't do this to me!"

A figure stepped out from Marinette—pure light in the shape of a woman. She didn't have the glassy texture that Carmine had once had. She was soft and warm like the pinkish glow of dawn. Marinette could only stare in wide-eyed shock.

"You had your chance to prove yourself," the woman said, "but creation has rejected you. What's done is done."

"No!" Carmine twisted against her bonds. "I'll get free! I'll kill this human and—"

"You will not," the woman said, her voice soft and almost pitying. "You will fade and let the cycle become whole, as is your destiny."

Carmine's chest heaved and angry tears glistened in her eyes. "Why?" she whispered. "Why her? Why did you abandon me?"

"Because creation is not about power or conquering death. It is just another part of the balance. It is harmony."

Carmine closed her eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks. Even so, she struggled to the end. The woman shoved her fist into Carmine's heart, just as had been done to Marinette, and Carmine pushed back with all she had. It was like watching an ant try to hold back a storm. Carmine was swallowed up in the magic. She screamed and struggled, but soon she crumbled apart like shattered stardust and was absorbed. Not a trace of her was left.

Marinette's heart thumped and thumped. She swallowed against the choking, desert-like dryness in her throat.

"Do not be afraid," the woman said, offering a gentle smile. "You are creation's chosen. You need only take my hand and the ritual will be complete."

Marinette did not move. "Who are you? Why were you … inside me?"

"You may call me Tikki, and I have always been with you."

"But how? Why?"

Tikki's smile faded. "Because I am the first. All of creation stems from me: all of the magic, every god and goddess of creation."

It was like a bolt of lightning shot down Marinette's spine. She straightened, her eyes widening. "It was you," she breathed. "You're the one who guided me in fights and gave me all that speed and strength."

"Yes."

No wonder it had felt like reliving a past life sometimes.

"But why?" Marinette found herself saying, her voice oddly small. "Why me?"

"When Carmine broke the cycle, a void was created and the balance between creation and destruction destabilised. Destiny chose you to fill that void." Another smile. "It is no coincidence that you fell in love with the god of destruction. Your love was written in the stars long ago."

A sinking hollowness settled in Marinette's stomach and she frowned at her hands. "You mean to say that none of it was my choice? Not even loving him?" Her fingers curled into fists. "I was just following some … set path?"

"Do you really think you never had a choice?"

The gentle question had creases forming on Marinette's brow.

"Destiny does not take your choices from you," Tikki said. "You could have chosen to give up at any time. You could have simply chosen not to marry the god of destruction and never stepped foot in this world. But you are strong-willed and compassionate and brave. That is why destiny chose you, Marinette. That is why I'm choosing you."

Heat brushed Marinette's cheeks. "I'm just a human."

Tikki held out her glowing hand. "And soon you will be a goddess."

"W-what?"

"Come. There isn't much time."

"But—"

Tikki stepped closer, though she did not force Marinette to take her hand. "It is your choice. You can embrace the full power of creation and be remade or you can stay as a human."

Blood drummed in Marinette's ears. She had felt some of the power she could wield as a goddess, and she had to admit that it was exhilarating. But that wasn't why she wanted strength or speed or magic. All she cared about was saving Adrien.

"If I do this," she whispered, "will I still be me?"

"The magic won't touch your soul. You will still be you as far as you wish to be. But know this, I will no longer be able to guide you. The cycle will be whole and my spirit will rest once more."

Marinette swallowed. Having no one to whisper tips during battle was not a reassuring prospect, but then this wasn't how it was meant to be. Here was a chance to make the cycle whole. Here was a chance to let Tikki rest, as she no doubt wanted.

_"That is why destiny chose you, Marinette. That is why I'm choosing you."_

Marinette sucked in a breath and placed her hand in Tikki's.

oOo

She would never be able to say what it felt like to be remade as a goddess. One moment there was darkness and then she opened her eyes and a name echoed through her soul, bright and beautiful as a bell.

_Ladybug._

Her true name.

She stood on lithe limbs and magic shivered through her fingertips, already wanting to create. The rope weapon was attached to her hip. As she glanced around, she saw that the barrier was still in place. A single touch shattered it.

Marinette held her head high and walked out into the ruined courtyard. It was time to keep her promise.


	36. No More

Broken chunks of stone were scattered everywhere. It looked as if a giant had torn the castle to shreds and stomped on everything, not caring who or what had got caught in its rage. But there was no giant. There was only her husband, still sheathed in winter, half-straddling Mayura as he gripped her shoulders and seemed to try to shake the soul out of her.

"It's your fault!" he screamed, his voice hoarse and wobbling. "Father had a plan! He had a—"

"Your father lied!"

"You don't know that!"

"I know him!" She held his gaze, her body bloodied and her armour shattered in places. "And so do you."

A snarl was torn from his throat. He raised his hand, which glowed with icy, destructive power.

"Blanc!" Marinette yelled.

He froze.

She stepped forward, a lump forming in her throat. "I'm here. I'm fine. Carmine's gone. She can't hurt me now."

He dropped Mayura and took a few steps closer. "Carmine's gone?"

She nodded.

Tears streaked down his face, but he didn't rush to her. He slumped to his knees and pressed his face to his hands, hunched over and trembling. It was like watching ice shatter. But his hair stayed a stark white and his robe would not go back to black. Even now, she didn't know how to fix this.

"Where's your father?" she asked. Maybe she could make Hawkmoth change him back.

Blanc didn't answer.

"He's dead," Mayura said.

"What?"

Mayura laughed, though it soon turned into a hacking cough, spittle and blood dribbling down her chin. She had not moved from where she lay sprawled on her back. Perhaps she couldn't. "He's dead," she repeated. "I killed him."

"But Cat, he's still …"

"I couldn't take the risk. I couldn't let him win." A smile tugged at Mayura's lips, bloody and pained. "He'll never be with Emilie now."

Marinette dashed over, knees scraping the ground as she grabbed Mayura by the shoulders just as Blanc had done only moments before. "Tell me you're lying."

"I'm not."

And she really wasn't. The body was not far from them, trapped under a slab of stone and bent in a weird angle like a tossed ragdoll. No sound. No twitch. Hawkmoth was dead.

The lump in Marinette's throat got bigger. Suddenly, she was tightening her grip on Mayura's shoulders, fingers digging in like claws. "You—you've ruined everything! Why couldn't you have waited? Why couldn't you have let me save Cat first? Now he's just—he's always going to be—"

Mayura laughed again, but there were tears as well, cutting a path through the dust and blood on her cheeks. "Terrible, aren't I?"

Marinette was shocked into letting her go.

"Oh, don't worry. I have no illusions about myself." Her voice softened. "I know I'm a wretch. I've ruined lives. I've lied and killed and done whatever it took to get my way." She squeezed her eyes shut, fresh tears spilling free. "I'm just like him."

"Mayura …"

"But I won." She forced a smile, all bared teeth and strain. Too much strain. "I won. Papillon is dead. My sister is gone." More tears. Another hacking cough. "It's … it's finally over."

"No!" Marinette slammed her fist into the ground. "I can't let it end like this. I won't!"

"What are you going to do? Bring the dead back to life?"

She flinched.

Mayura laughed and closed her eyes. "No, you're not like Carmine, are you? I guess I could have trusted you after all. I just never thought Carmine would lose."

"She didn't either."

Mayura's lips curved, then twisted in pain. "It seems we both underestimated you … Marinette."

It was the first time Mayura had called her by name, and it brought hot prickles to Marinette's eyes. She didn't even understand why. This goddess had tried to kill her. Had tried to kill all of them. There was no reason to cry over her, even if she was dying. But the tears still welled up. Marinette swiped at her eyes and averted her face.

"You have to break the object," Mayura said softly.

"What?" Marinette swung back to face her.

"The akuma. It would have flown into something of your husband's. Break it." She gestured at the weapon attached to Marinette's hip. "And then purify the butterfly with that."

Marinette fingered the weapon, seeing for the first time that it could open. "Can I really trust you?"

"I have no fight with you. Go save him." She met her gaze, and for once it was not like staring into the chill of frost. "You're the goddess of creation now. You can do it."

Marinette stood up and approached Blanc, who was still hunched over—a broken, shivering thing whose puppet strings had been cut. She stroked her fingers once down his back, then dug in to wrench the cloth. It shredded like paper to her godly strength. All trace of winter faded from him even as a butterfly emerged, its wings a purple-bruised black and almost dripping with taint.

"No more for you," Marinette whispered.

She captured the akuma in her weapon and told it to be purified, just in case trapping it wasn't enough. When she released it, its wings were the colour of snow.

Adrien looked up at her with those warm, summer-green eyes. "Marinette?"

She collapsed into his arms and hugged him close. "You're back."

"I … I don't understand. What happened? Why are—" He held her away from him, his eyes wide as he glanced around at the ruined castle. "Wait, what happened to the castle?"

"You don't remember?"

He shook his head.

Marinette bit her lip, fresh tears prickling in her eyes. How was she supposed to explain all of this to him?

"Marinette?" he said, anxious now. "What happened? Don't tell me I lost control of my—"

"You didn't lose control of your powers, boy."

They both turned to face Mayura. She was still on her back, but it seemed like more blood had gathered in slippery trails around the shattered gaps in her armour.

"I did this," Mayura said.

Marinette's eyes widened. A lie? Why had she lied?

"I created a sentimonster that destroyed the castle, I killed your father, and I would have killed your wife, but you protected her." Mayura laughed, loud and mocking. So false, too. "You should be proud. You did everything a loving husband should."

Adrien lowered his gaze to his hands. "Father is … dead?" His voice was impossibly small. Years seemed to shed off him as he hugged his arms to himself, leaving him looking like a trembling child.

"Don't cry for him," Mayura said harshly. "He doesn't deserve your tears. He came tonight believing that your wife would die and Carmine would win the struggle to be the goddess of creation. Trust me on that."

Marinette touched Adrien's arm. "I think it's true. Your father told me he didn't care what happened to either of us. He just wanted your mother back."

Adrien bit his lip and turned away from them. "Where?" he said hoarsely.

"What?"

"Where's the body?"

Marinette pointed.

He walked away from them, still so small and fragile. Should she follow? But no, he would have asked her to if he wanted her there. Maybe he needed this time to be alone. This time for closure.

Marinette frowned and turned back to Mayura. "Why did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Lie? We both know he's the one who destroyed the castle. He gave you those injuries as well, didn't he?"

A wry smile twisted Mayura's lips. "You never saw him after what happened with the Protector. The boy was traumatised. He had to be forced to use his power." She shrugged, closing her eyes. "I just … he and I are not so different. Both isolated. Both feared. I guess … I wanted to be kind, just this once. His memories of Blanc will never come back. It seemed a little thing to spare him this one pain."

"Then you don't think I should tell him about the akuma?"

"No, Marinette. I don't. He may have protected you, but he also worked with his father and put you in danger. Do you think he'd ever forgive himself for that?"

Probably not.

"Just let it be," Mayura said tiredly, like it was a struggle to get words out. "It's over now anyway."

Marinette looked towards Adrien, who had pushed the slab off his father's body and was now kneeling before him. She supposed it was over. Carmine was gone. Hawkmoth would never be able to control his son again. Mayura was no longer a threat. All of the promises had been kept, and the only thing left to do now was move on.

"Mayura," Marinette said, glancing back at her.

She froze, knowing even before she checked that there would be no response. That there would never be another response. Mayura's chest was still. Her pulse was silent.

The goddess who had been brought back to life was dead once more.

oOo

Marinette approached Adrien. His eyes were red-rimmed, and he still knelt before his father. "Hey," she said softly.

Without a word, he leaned into her as if all the pillars keeping him upright crumpled, pressing his face into her stomach. Her eyes widened, but she held him close and stroked her fingers down his hair.

"I feel so stupid," he whispered.

"Why?"

"He controlled me. He barely gave me any affection. He used you and didn't care if you got harmed in the process. I should be glad he's dead, but …"

"But what?"

"It still hurts." His voice wobbled. "Why does it have to hurt so much?"

She hugged him closer and closed her eyes. They stayed like that for a long time.

oOo

They buried Mayura's body in the courtyard. It didn't seem right to bury Hawkmoth with her, so they took his body with them. Adrien thought it would be worth checking out his father's castle. He said that his mother might be hidden there. Marinette didn't question it. There was a fragile spark in his eyes that she was afraid of shattering.

They found Emilie in a secret part of the dungeon area. Somehow, she had been preserved: no rot or stench but undeniably dead. The glass coffin was surrounded by white butterflies and flowers. It looked like something from a story. She looked like something from a story: a beautiful princess with a crown of gold, just waiting for her true love's kiss to wake her.

"Mum," Adrien whispered, pressing his hand to the glass.

He didn't cry like he had in front of Hawkmoth. He just smiled sadly and pushed the lid up, then gathered her into his arms.

"You sure?" Marinette asked.

Though what she was asking, she wasn't certain. If he was ready? If he didn't want to spend more time with Emilie to make his goodbyes?

"She deserves to rest properly," he said.

Marinette nodded and stood back. He carried his mother out to the garden and then buried her next to his father. There were no headstones. Nothing special. He didn't cry then either. Perhaps he'd shed all the tears he could for his parents—his mother long ago, and his father in that courtyard of ruin and destruction.

Marinette held his dirt-smeared hand, squeezing tight to say those quiet words. _I'm here. I'll always be here if you need me._ He rested his head against hers and squeezed back.

For now, it was enough.


	37. Together

"What do you think?" Marinette asked.

Adrien came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist as he examined the manor she had created: two-storeyed and built for cosiness rather than a display of opulence. It was the kind of thing nobles would have called quaint—not even worth being called a summer retreat—but it was the colour of warm pearl and had plenty of windows to let light in.

"It's nice," he said.

"You don't think it too small?"

They'd both grown up in castles. Maybe he would find it strange.

"Marinette." His breath was warm on her ear and his embrace even warmer as he hugged her closer. "I think it's perfect."

She smiled and closed her eyes, lingering like that with him before her hand sought his and she intertwined their fingers. "Come," she said softly. "Let me show you the rest."

They explored the house together. He let loose a bright swell of laughter when she pointed grandly to the staircase and said she'd made the banister nice and curved so he could slide down it if he wished.

"An important thing, to be sure," he said, his eyes crinkling into a smile.

A sweet ache filled her heart. It seemed like forever since he'd laughed like that. She hadn't thought she'd get to hear it so soon.

"What?" he said, tilting his head.

"Nothing."

She didn't want to spoil the mood, not when she knew he was still trying to patch up the rawness of his grief. The important thing was that he was ready to smile and laugh. The important thing was that they were together.

She grabbed his hand and tugged him towards a door. "Come see the gardens."

He half-tripped over his feet. "Gardens?"

"Of course."

It was where she had let her creation magic flow free. A high hedge rimmed the outskirts like an embrace of jade, while arches led into the different sections. The kitchen and infirmary garden had been doubled in one, looking wild even when contained in little rectangular plots and fences of wattle. Herbs burst with scents—rosemary, peppermint, sage, and so many more. Every breath was like tasting them on her tongue.

Next was the pleasure garden. Laurel trees were dotted around, and low hedges had been shaped into beautiful patterns. Then there were the roses: red, white, and pink, adding dashes of bold and soft colour wherever needed. Adrien took it all in with open awe, his mouth parted slightly. His grip on her hand went slack.

"So much life," he whispered.

She smiled. "I am the goddess of creation. It's easy for me now."

No more using up all her energy just to create a single rosebush. No more struggle to create life. She was creation. She was life.

He blinked. "I know. I just … knowing it is different from seeing it."

Her lips curved more. She plucked one of the roses and held its red-wine petals up to her nose, then offered it to him. "Well, you'd best get used to it. You are married to me."

He took the rose carefully, almost cradling it. "It's beautiful."

Their eyes met, and he leaned in and kissed her in a whisper of love against her lips.

"Thank you for doing this," he murmured, resting his forehead against hers. "I … I don't think I could have stayed in my father's castle, and even if you'd rebuilt the other one, I …"

"I know." She nudged his forehead lightly in a little nuzzle, closing her eyes as she stayed close to him, sharing breath. "I know."

oOo

That night, she guided him to the bedroom she'd prepared, stepping over the soft rugs to the bed that took up most of the space. He didn't question that she hadn't prepared a second bedroom. During that last dark period at the castle, it had become habit for them to share a bed. Both had been so scared they'd be ripped apart from each other at any moment. Now, no one was out to get them. It was like coming up for air after being trapped in the ocean's depths: sweet inhales of oxygen. Sweet relief.

She snuggled with him on top of the blanket, his head on her breast and their legs tangled with each other. Absently, her fingers slipped through his hair and for the first time she dared to touch his ears—softer than silk, and begging to be touched again. It was as relaxing for her as it was for him judging by the way he practically melted against her.

Her lips twitched into a smile, one born from affection and contentment. She knew then that this was the moment.

"Adrien."

"Mm?"

"I'm a goddess now."

"I know," he said, a husky laugh creeping into his voice, as if he was asking what was she trying to get at.

"I want to tell you my name."

He shot upright, his eyes wide like green moons.

She bit her lip. "It didn't feel right before. There was so much going on, but … but I want you to know. I've wanted you to know from the beginning."

"Marinette, this isn't something you should rush into. You haven't been a goddess for long and—"

"It's my gift to give," she said, repeating his own words, "and I want to give it to you."

"But it's barely been _yours_. Are you sure you don't want to—"

"Adrien." She cupped his face with her hands, smiling into his eyes. "I love you. I trust you. Telling you my true name doesn't feel like losing something. It feels like I'd be gaining something."

One of his hands encircled her wrist, but his expression was overwhelmed. "You trust me that much? Even though I've been such a fool? Even though I couldn't protect my own name?"

"You were a child being manipulated then." She picked up his other hand and placed a kiss to his palm. "Things are different now." Another kiss, this time on his knuckles. "We're starting a new life together in a new home, and we can finally just be together."

He exhaled a shaky breath, the tension easing out of him.

She intertwined their fingers and met his gaze. "I know your name. Is it so surprising that I want to tell you mine?"

His resolve broke. He squeezed her hand, his gaze earnest. "If that's what you really wish," he whispered, "then I will treasure your name with all that I am. I will protect it as if it's my own heart."

She didn't doubt it, so she smiled and kissed him slow and lingering, pulling back just enough to breathe the name to his lips.

"Ladybug."

She felt the magic pulse through her in ripples of warmth, but it was different from before. More like opening a door to her most secret of spaces than a sense of deep knowing. His grip tightened on her wrist and hand—not uncomfortably—and his lips crashed against hers before he pulled back to look at her in wonder.

"Ladybug," he repeated.

Oh.

She hadn't been prepared for that: the shock of primal intimacy, like he was caressing her soul. Was this what he felt every time she said his true name?

"S-say it again," she whispered.

His lips curved and his eyes crinkled into the smile she loved. "Ladybug."

"Again."

"Ladybug." He kissed her, letting go of her wrist so he could cradle her cheek. "Ladybug, I love you so much."

That last one was her undoing. She tumbled back into the pillows with him, kissing him with a sweet but unrestrained desire. It was like a release of sparks and heart songs: pulse-racing, thundering, exhilarating. They kissed and kissed, and her blood rejoiced in every silent word of love he let her taste, every shy touch.

She sat up and reached for the fastenings of her nightdress.

He visibly swallowed, cheeks flushed. "Are you sure?"

Her own face was hot, but she didn't break eye contact. On the first night of their marriage, she had been prepared to shed her clothes and be with him if it meant fulfilling her duty. He had said there was no need—the kiss had been enough to consummate their marriage, and since they didn't love each other, he didn't want them to force themselves.

But everything was different now. They were different.

"Adrien," she murmured, and traced her finger over his soft lower lip, then trailed it down in a caress to his collar. "I am very sure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yesss, that really is the end. (sorry for those who were hoping for more, but smut really isn't my thing and this fic is rated T)
> 
> Big, big thank you to everyone who commented! I loved reading all of your comments and seeing all your guesses and reactions. It made writing this fic really enjoyable (which is partly why I speeded my way through writing it hahah)
> 
> Also big thank you to smellerbeee for giving me the kiss prompt that started all of this, because I never would have written it otherwise. I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing!


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